The Beauty and the Tragedy
by BrainySmurf6
Summary: Brennan surrounded herself with memories of Booth, determined not to lose him completely. In the mean time, she was losing herself" Booth's fake death continues on for over a month, and Brennan begins to unravel. Strong BB, also with BA friendship
1. Just a Dream

_Author's Note: _

_Apologies/Explanation: __Okay. So I NEVER had the intention of taking a multiple month hiatus from Shattered (or from writing in general), but the time I put it off for finals, then for moving back home for the summer, then for job hunting, and since then, travelling and ACTUAL working. I feel really bad about it, but this has been an extremely busy few months._

_That said, the next chapter of Shattered is being worked on. I promise. It shouldn't be long getting it up. But this idea took old of me one week when I was on vacation at the beach, and seized me the kind of intensity so that I was genuinely pissed whenever I had to be away from the computer. I have over ten chapters of it done, and it was all done right there together. Not very responsible of me, since I have an 'in the works' story still going, but this was the way the muse led._

_Things you actually SHOULD know for this story:_

_My obsession with the whole "Booth's fake death" thing is probably becoming clear between Shattered, which merely addresses some leftover issues, and now this, which is actually centered around it. Sort of. Everything in Wannabe in the Weeds applies, and the very beginning of what we saw of Pain in the Heart does as well, but it picks up there and changes. In this story, the nature of Booth's mission (which will become clear) is a little different, and requires the facade to go on much longer. While this will also become apparent, Sweets was NOT the one in charge of informing, due to the changed scenerio, etc. I'm basically exploring what might have happened after two weeks of Brennan's faux-compartmentalizing, if life without Booth actually had to continue, and things really started to unravel._

_Uh, yeah. I like angst. But I love Booth and Brennan, too, so don't worry. Enough of my ranting._

_Disclaimer: Definitely don't own Bones, or the song the chapter title comes from, Just A Dream by Carrie Underwood (Not a big fan of country, but a friend played this in the car the other day, and part of the lyrics fit this chapter very well)._

_**Chapter One **_

_Just A Dream_

_Then they handed her a folded up flag  
And she held on to all she had left of him  
Oh, and what could have been  
And then the guns rang one last shot  
And it felt like a bullet in her heart_

Baby why'd you leave me  
Why'd you have to go?  
I was counting on forever, now I'll never know  
I can't even breathe  
It's like I'm looking from a distance  
Standing in the background  
Everybody's saying, he's not coming home now  
This can't be happening to me  
This is just a dream

She thinks, later, that maybe it all would have been alright if she hadn't allowed herself to be coerced into attending the funeral. It's foolish, really, to boil everything that happened down to a single moment; and really, it had been coming since the moment she found out…but the funeral was, inarguably, the moment Temperance Brennan truly began to break.

When they arrived at the cemetery, she told herself she was there for Angela. But it didn't take long to realize that _Angela_ was the one reaching for _her_ hand sand squeezing it reassuringly when she stopped short at the closed coffin. And when they began talking about him, his priest and an old Army buddy and then Caroline Julian, they always mentioned the fact that he died for his partner, for _her_, and then it was _Angela_ who kept sending _her_ sidelong glances to makes sure she wasn't going to fall apart, again.

Because that was another thing. It was _Angela_, and only Angela, who knows exactly how this was affecting her. Not because Brennan decided to confide in her, but because Angela was there at her apartment, about to take her back to the hospital, when the phone call came. Angela had been the one to tell her.

And when Angela had looked her best friend in the eye and whispered that Booth hadn't made it, that the doctor's confident assurances the previous night (strong enough to allow Angela to drag Brennan away from the hospital room for a shower and change of clothes) had been wrong…there was absolutely nothing Temperance Brennan could do to stop herself from completely falling apart.

Now, Angela put a hand on Brennan's back, comfortingly rubbing circles with her palm.

And Brennan knew, without a doubt, that she had been played.

She tightened her jaw and stared straight ahead, trying to drown out Caroline's voice, trying to forget where she was. Funerals are public displays of grief, and Brennan wanted no part of that.

She had allowed herself that first day to go to pieces…not that she'd had much choice in the matter. But after that, she'd forced herself out of bed, out of her apartment and to the lab, ignoring the sympathetic, concerned gazes of the others. She had forced herself to cope. And if she had broken down and cried herself to sleep in her office a few nights, then woke up screaming from nightmares, no one had to know.

Brennan had survived abandonment by her entire family. Three years in the foster care system, peppered with neglect, loneliness and, in one case, abuse. She had survived death squads in remote countries. Kidnapping. Being buried alive.

She would survive this, too.

_Except._

Except Angela had tricked her into coming to the funeral, something she had vowed she wouldn't do. And now, everyone was _staring_ at her, pitying and worried. When they spoke to her, their voices were low and lilted, so that even the simplest question, like _How are you?_, seemed deep and sympathetic . They were treating Brennan as though she was his wife or girlfriend; but she was just his partner.

Her throat constricted painfully. That is what they told people, from their friends and colleagues to complete strangers, all of whom seemed intent on implying otherwise.

So why was Brennan beginning to think she doesn't feel the way just a partner would feel? Or even just a friend?

A few people she did not know came up to her before the funeral began. They were old friends of Booth's, people who had known him for years, yet they immediately told _her _how sorry they were.

One woman, who Brennan thought was the wife of Booth's friend from the Rangers who spoke earlier, had said something like, "At least you'll always know how much he cared about you. Saving your life like that…"

Brennan had merely nodded; but she had wanted to punch the strange woman in the face, to scream until her throat tore open, to break down and sob that she had never _wanted_ that.

Caroline finished speaking. They began to fold the flag that was draped over the coffin, and Brennan had to close her eyes. It was almost over. And then she would be able to retreat back to the lab, and pretend to forget. And maybe, at some point, there would be a second, only a second, where she actually could.

But then Angela nudged her, and when Brennan opened her eyes, the captain was in front of her, extending the folded flag. A wave of dizziness seized her, and she stared stupidly at his outstretched hand, not moving the take it.

Why her? Where were his parents? Brennan hadn't seen them (or, for that matter, Parker and Rebecca) but, then, she wasn't positive she knew what they looked like.

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell them that she wasn't his wife, that, actually, she was the reason he was dead, but her voice caught suddenly, tears lining the column of her throat and pooling in her eyes. Quickly, determined to keep them hidden, Brennan clamped her lips tight together and took the offered flag, stilling the trembling of her hands by clenching them tight around the fabric.

Blinking furiously, Brennan told herself that is was almost over. She could do this.

But then she heard the captain call the Honor Guard to salute and, heart sinking, she realized what was about to happen.

She wanted to yell at them to stop, to explain that the last time she saw Booth really, truly alive, beaming up at her while she sang, it had all ended with a gunshot.

Except that, once, after a military funeral for one of 'their' victims, Booth had explained the origins of the 21 gun salute, telling her how it was a great honor for a soldier.

And although Brennan firmly believed that funeral rights and grieving rituals were wasted on the deceased person themselves, who was no longer anything but a body, she couldn't help thinking, _Booth deserves this_.

The first gunshot sent the air whooshing from her lungs, and Brennan's vision began narrowing, the people around her fading.

The next gunshot sounded. She was back at the Checkerbox, watching him leap up in front of her, jerk back from the impact of the bullet, and stumble…all before she even realized Pam was present.

Another one, echoing in her ears. He was lying on the floor, his hand in hers slowly going limp, and it was like she could feel the life leaving him by degrees. His blood was spilling through her fingers. The terror in his eyes began to drain, an even scarier emptiness replacing it.

"Sweetie?" Angela's voice was distorted and distant. "Brennan?"

Her entire body was shaking violently, her legs boneless beneath her, knuckles white on Booth's flag.

Angela threw Hodgins an alarmed look. She hadn't seen that expression on Brennan's face since the first day, several hours after the news came, when Brennan had finally stopped crying and transformed, instantly, into a hollow shell. She looked that way now: her eyes, wide and horrified, unseeing, her body quivering visibly, and painfully oblivious to the tears that had begun to roll down her cheeks.

"_Brennan_."

She blinked. They were lowering the coffin into the ground.

Her lips parted, and one syllable escaped, desperate. "_No_."

Eyes filling with tears, Angela attempted to wrap her arms around Brennan. "I know, Sweetie…"

But Brennan shook her off, still staring, transfixed, on the disappearing casket. "No. No…" The protest changed, seamlessly, from a whisper to a whimper. "No. No, no…no no no…"

The coffin disappeared into the ground and, simultaneously, in front of her friends, colleagues and dozens of strangers, Temperance Brennan's legs gave out beneath her. The façade of control crumbling at last, she sunk to the ground, the cool, damp dirt soaking through the knees of her jeans. Bending over the flag clutched at her chest, Brennan was suddenly a small, keening ball on the ground.

~(B*B)~

"Booth! Phone!"

Special Agent Seeley Booth eagerly whipped around, then stood. He was sitting on the porch of the FBI safehouse in Virginia, poring over old case files.

It had been over two weeks, and he was growing restless. The first few days hadn't been so bad, since he had been recovering from the gunshot wound. But after he'd been medically cleared, he'd started to feel like a caged animal.

Still. He was supposed to be dead, and no matter how slim the chances of him being recognized were, national security was not the sort of thing that allowed taking chances.

They'd assured him he'd be able to participate in bringing down Reynolds, and the investigation leading up to it. Still, so far, all they'd managed to do was confirm that the news of Booth's passing had reached Reynolds; now they had to wait until the news that the agent who had driven him underground was no longer a threat made him brave enough to rejoin his old crime team.

Needless to say, watching the other agents come and go as they pleased, even those that were staying at the safehouse as well, was starting to get on Booth's nerves.

He lived for the phone calls that came into him every few days, from one of the few people back in DC who knew he was alive. The phone didn't dial out, except for a direct line to the Deputy Director himself, and Booth hadn't been permitted to bring his cell phone, on the off chance that someone who thought he was dead dialed it and he accidentally answered.

"Hello?" Booth said excitedly.

"Hey, bro! How's death?"

Booth groaned. His brother was _not_ his favorite caller. He'd been hoping for Parker or maybe Bones, the only person on the short list of the informed who hadn't called him yet. He didn't know if this meant she was angry at him for taking so much time off and not telling her directly (not that he'd had a choice) or if she'd just decided, with typical Bones logic, that there was no reason for her to call him while he was working on a case she wasn't involved in.

"Dull. I'm going out of my mind."

"Guy still hasn't made a move, huh?"

Booth rolled his eyes. "I can't discuss the case, Jared."

"You're absolutely right, Seeley. Wouldn't want to compromise national security." There was a pause, then Jared informed him, "Phillies won at home yesterday."

"Yeah, I know, Jared. I have a TV. I'm at a safehouse, not a tent in the wilderness."

Jared sighed loudly into the phone. "How should I know that, Seel? You won't say where you are. You know, national security and all that."

"It's a serious thing."

"It always is with you. I heard they had your funeral in DC yesterday."

Perking up at the hint of news from home, he said, "So I take it you didn't attend."

"You kidding me? I'm no actor. People would have been telling me how sorry they are for my loss…I'd have started laughing. People would have either thought I'm a callous bastard or they'd have had me committed."

"I guess so."

"The folks didn't go either. The story is that we're doing a small, private memorial of our own back home. Oh, and Rebecca didn't take Parker, obviously. Didn't want to traumatize the kid."

"Yeah, I know. We talked."

"Well, basically, your friends probably think you have one apathetic family."

Booth couldn't help but grin a little at that. "Shoot, I just wanted to hear a little about the funeral."

"Stroke the ego a little? Don't blame you. Most people don't get that chance. But that hot partner of yours can tell you all about it, right? I'm sure she was there."

Booth bristled instantly when Jared called Bones hot. They hadn't met, but he'd seen photos and had been goading Booth about why he hadn't 'jumped' his 'hot partner' since he and Bones had started working together.

He shook it off as Jared's words sunk it and Booth tried to picture Bones at his funeral. How bizarre that must have been for her. In fact, the whole thing must be extremely strange, what with the other squints not knowing the truth. She was probably having a pretty hard time going along with everything.

_Maybe that's why she hasn't called. She's angry at me for putting her in such a tough position._

"Earth to Seeley?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess."

"What ? You don't think she'll be willing to share?"

"Nah, I'm sure she will." _If she ever calls me_. "Listen, Jared, thanks a lot for calling, but I gotta go. We've got an update meeting in five minutes," he lied.

"Uh-huh. You're a horrible liar, Seeley. Good thing you aren't the one back here pretending. I've got to go anyway, I've got a date with this super hot chick I've been trying to score for months. She wants to cheer me up…my brother just died."

Booth rolled his eyes for probably the tenth time in the short conversation. "Glad to know you're reaping the benefits of this government operation."

"Hey, when life gives you lemons. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Spare me. Bye Jared."

"See ya, Seeley. Good luck with your national security."

Booth put the phone down and sighed. His brother could be irritating, but he knew that in about ten minutes he'd regret cutting the call short.

He returned to the front porch, kicking at the front door before it closed. He was starting to _really_ resent Cullen for springing this on him when he first woke up, so foggy from anesthesia that he wouldn't have been able to refuse even if it had been a real option.

He missed Parker. But at least he called him almost every day. Missing Parker was something he was, unfortunately, used to.

Bones, though…he had seen her almost daily for three years, with a couple vacation weeks here and there being an exception. This was the longest they'd been apart since the very beginning. He felt strangely off balance without her, and he hated thinking about her alone back in DC, having to go through the motions and pretend he was dead.

_If she'd only _call_ me, I'd feel at least a little better_

~(B*B)~

Brennan's eyes fluttered open and met an unfamiliar ceiling. Her head was heavy with sleep, and it took a moment for her to sit up and scan her surroundings.

She was in a bedroom, completely unfamiliar. Alone, which was probably a good thing, but the strange setting provoked enough anxiety on its own as she racked her brain to recall the previous night.

Yesterdays events came screaming back all at once. Booth's funeral…because Booth was dead. It had been two weeks, and still upon waking there was always the crushing moment of recollection, the second the fogginess slips away and her new, cold reality returned.

Still. This was the first time since It Happened that she had woken up in the morning, naturally, rather than waking up, drenched in sweat, his name scratching at her throat, after only a few fitful hours of sleep.

The funeral. Brennan winced. She had lost it. In front of…_everyone_. She supposed she has no right to complain about them treating her like a grieving widow if she insisted on behaving like one.

They hadn't gone to the wake. She'd curled on the ground, sobbing in earnest, until everyone but Angela and Hodgins had left the cemetery. It took Angela a good half hour to coax Brennan to her feet and walk her to Hodgins' car.

The bedroom door cracked open, and Angela peered in. Seeing Brennan awake, she gave her a half smile and came inside. Adopting a voice appropriate for the sick bed of a dying relative, Angela intoned quietly, "Morning, Sweetie."

Brennan sat up, raking her fingers through her hair as she stared blearily at her friend. "Angela...what did you do to me?"

"I kidnapped you, took you to Hodgins' place and gave you a sedative," Angela said flatly. "You needed it. Consider it a loving intervention."

Brennan closed her eyes and moaned quietly, the previous day now completely clear. After an hour or so of curling on Hodgins' couch next to Angela, crying like a four year old, she'd begun to feebly insist that she needed to return to the lab. But it had taken Angela a shockingly short amount of time to convince Brennan that she wasn't _allowed_ to go into work.

So instead, they had sat for hours and hours, Brennan talking and Angela just listening. She talked about Booth, rehashing dozens of tiny moments over the past three years, some Angela already knew and some Brennan had kept to herself. She had talked herself hoarse, hadn't bothered to invent any pretense; she simply wanted to remember.

They hadn't mentioned the funeral again. Angela had just held her hand and listened until, apparently, she'd dragged Brennan to one of the multiple guest rooms and given her a sedative, no arguments.

Now, Angela sat on the edge of Brennan's bed. "A decent night's sleep feels good, doesn't it?"

Brennan shrugged noncommittally, then, ducking her head, murmured, "Everyone must think I'm clinically insane."

Angela rolled her eyes, but her voice still had that 'hospital bedside' quality. "Sweetie, no one thinks that. You acted like any other person would."

"Minor correction, I didn't observe _anyone_ else…collapse into a heap on the ground at the cemetery."

Angela's face softened. "Well, no one else was…no one else had what you had with him."

Brennan quelled the instinctual dismissal of Angela's implication. Instead, she drew her knees up under her chin and fell silent for a few moments. When she spoke again, her voice was uncharacteristically fragile, "I don't know how to do this, Ange." Angela's chest tightened, and before she could find words to reassure her best friend, Brennan amended, "I…I don't know if I _can_ do this."

"I know," Angela told her softly, feeling horribly useless. "I know it feels that way now, but…but you _can_ do this, Bren. You're a survivor."

Brennan shrugged listlessly. She didn't feel like she was surviving. She felt impossibly weak, in fact; she had lost any semblance of control over her own emotions, and that scared her.

A lot scared her, actually. Starting with how much this_ hurt_.

Brennan didn't understand it; grief was supposed to be all psychological babble, but she couldn't deny a direct observation: there was actual, physical pain involved. She would be the first to say that a 'broken heart' was a ridiculous metaphor; and maybe they couldn't break, or crack, or shatter… but she knew now that her heart_ could_ feel like a heavy, painful weight, hanging leaden in her chest, crushing her lungs and making it difficult to take a breath.

Angela took Brennan's hand in her and squeezed it gently. "It's okay to feel like this, Bren. It really is. Take as long as you need. But just remember that…he'd _want_ you to be okay. He saved your life…he'd want you to go on with it."

The tenderness in her best friend's voice cut as deep as any knife, and Brennan's eyes swam with tears for what felt like the hundredth time in two weeks. She pulled her hand from Angela's to cover her face and, after a beat, burst out in a broken tone, "But…he didn't _ask_ me!"

This apparently inexplicable comment disconcerted Angela for a moment, but then Brennan continued, "I didn't have a choice, he just…he just decided. But I didn't _want_ that." She removed her hands from her face, staring at Angela, her eyes the picture of raw anguish. "I didn't want him to save me."

Angela caught her bottom lip between her teeth, willing herself not to start crying. Brennan wasn't often the emotional, vulnerable one in their friendship; now, she could hold herself together for her best friend. "I know, Sweetie. But he wouldn't have had it any other way. And you would've done the same for him."

Brennan couldn't refute that statement, but instead protested, "But he has a _son_. He has a family. It would have been a logical choice if the situation had been reversed!"

Angela closed her eyes. Honestly, Brennan just broke her heart sometimes. "You have a family, too, Bren."

She shook her head vehemently, the tears spilling over now. Brennan wondered briefly when she had lost her lifelong ability to keep herself from crying. "Barely. They left me. A couple times, technically, and they could leave again, anytime, without warning." Her face crumpled. "_Booth_ wasn't…he wasn't supposed to go anywhere."

Forget it. Tears spilled from Angela's eyes and she shifted on the bed so she was half lying, half sitting next to Brennan. She put an arm around her best friend and was surprised when Brennan lay her head on her shoulder. "He would've never left willingly, Sweetie. I think you know that."

"What he did was stupid. It was typical arrogant alpha male…reckless and irresponsible and, and it wasn't fair." If Brennan thought about it enough, she could almost summon a decent amount of anger among the overwhelming grief. It was just _so_ like Booth, with his antiquated, sexist notions of chivalry. Who was he to make that kind of decision?

"It was instinct, Sweetie. You know how protective he is of you." Brennan shuddered slightly, and Angela winced instantly when she recognized her mistaken use of the present tense. She didn't correct herself, though, thinking that would probably just make it worse.

Brennan exhaled slowly, fighting for control. She wasn't acting like herself. After all, she understood, intellectually, that wallowing in sorrow wasn't going to help anything. Booth was gone; she had to accept that. Wishing it was different, mentally replaying it, even being angry at him over it…none of that was going to change anything. The only logical course of action was to move on with her life.

Filled with a renewed determination, Brennan hastily swiped a corner of the bed sheets over the last remnants of tears on her cheeks and sat up, startling Angela.

"Thanks for everything, Ange. You were great yesterday, and this morning…but I really need to go into work."

Somewhat thrown by the abrupt change in her friend's demeanor, Angela took a moment before countering, "Cam said to take as long as you need. She said that two weeks ago, actually, and you didn't listen."

"I did listen. She said take as long as I need…and I don't need more time. In fact, what I _need_ is to be at work."

"A normal amount of time at work? Or are you planning on staying overnight in your office again?" When Brennan didn't answer, Angela groaned, "Bren, you can't…pretend this away, alright? You buried yourself in work, pretending the real world wasn't out there for the past two weeks and it clearly didn't work. Yesterday proved that." Brennan flushed, obviously still embarrassed about her breakdown at the funeral. Softening, Angela continued, "You're allowed to wallow for awhile, Sweetie."

Brennan's eyes hardened. "I don't wallow, Angela. That's not what I do, it isn't…it isn't logical." She stood up abruptly. "I just need to get back to the lab-"

"For work, that's fine. But what you've been doing…it isn't healthy. Working overtime to all hours and sleeping in your office-"

"It was _working_, Angela," she said curtly.

"_Temporarily_. But what're you gonna do, have a complete breakdown every few weeks?"

Brennan kept her back to her friend, her hands shaking as she gathered up her clothes.

A few moments of silence passed, and then Angela said suddenly, "Stay here for a few days, with me and Jack. Or just me and you could go back to my apartment to stay."

"Why? What would be the value in that?"

Angela sighed. "Because I don't think you should be alone right now. And, yeah, I would feel better if I knew for a fact you were sleeping. In a bed, in an actual home; not your office."

Finally turning around, Brennan gave Angela a pleading look. "I need to go back to a normal routine, Ange. I need to…take the necessary steps to move past this."

Angela studied Brennan. She could see the desperation written on her face. Privately, Angela was certain it would take a long time for Brennan to even begin to move past Booth's death. But she knew how frightening the onslaught of emotions must be to her friend. "Fine," she sighed. "But please promise me you won't stay at the lab all night."

"Ange-"

"I'm serious, Brennan. Besides, you said a normal routine, and taking up residence at work isn't a normal routine, even for you." Brennan didn't reply, and, in a more pleading tone, Angela added, "Please, promise me?"

Finally, Brennan relented. "I promise."

"Good. If you can wait half an hour, I can grab a shower, and we'll all go to work together."

"I can do that."

Angela stood up from the bed, and on her way out of the room, she impulsively grabbed Brennan and pulled her into a hug.

"Just so you know, you were wrong before about your family. _We're_ family, too, all of us. And we aren't going anywhere. Especially me." She paused, then added quietly, "Don't shut me out, Bren. I love you and I'm here for you, alright?"

Brennan's throat tightened, a fresh wave of tears springing to her eyes. "Thanks, Ange." She whispered quietly.

Angela drew back, honestly a little sorry for making her best friend cry; Brennan had been doing it a lot lately, and Angela knew how much she hated it. "Well you don't have to get weepy on me, Sweetie," she teased lightly, ignoring the tightness in her chest as she took in the ache that was painfully apparent in Brennan's eyes.

_A/N: Reviews=Love. Also, as I said, I went into a wild frenzy of wirting for the first ten chapters of this one, so reviews also = faster updates_


	2. Ache

_**Chapter Two**_

_Ache_

_Isn't it strange, the way things can change?  
Life that you lead, turned on its head. Suddenly someone, means more than you felt for  
house in its yard, turns into home.  
Sorry but I meant to say, many things along the way, This one's for you._

Have I told you I ache, have I told you I ache,  
Have I told you I ache, for you...

After an hour of Angela standing over her shoulder and looking pointedly at the clock, Brennan finally gave in and left the lab at 8:30.

It had been good to have something to do. None of the other team members mentioned the funeral breakdown, but the memory was clearly fresh in their minds; Cam, Hodgins, and even Zack still talked to her in that sickbed voice, and no matter how short she was with them, no one got annoyed.

There had been an incident two hours or so after her arrival; she'd been on the forensic platform, working through cases from Limbo with the others, when an unfamiliar blonde woman approached the steps of the platform."Um, hi. I'm Special Agent Payton Perrotta. With the FBI?"

Brennan looked up to see Cam scanning her badge so the agent could come up on the platform. Cam had clearly been expecting her. "Agent Perotta, this Dr. Zack Addy, Angela Montenegro, Dr. Jack Hodgins, and Dr. Temperance Brennan." She pointed to them all accordingly, then addressed the group, her eyes on Brennan "A body was found in a dumpster behind a restaurant downtown."

Brennan didn't look up. "Zack can go."

Startled, Zack stared at her for a moment, then began gathering his kit. Perotta, meanwhile, looked a little surprised, and after a moment's hesitation, approached Brennan.

"Dr. Brennan, I just wanted to say I'm very sorry about Agent Booth. I knew him at the Bureau, of course, and he was an excellent agent, and…well, we all know you two were very close."

Brennan shrugged dismissively, still not looking up from the few bones laid out on the table in front of her.

Awkwardly pressing on, Perotta continued, "Also, I wanted to let you know, you should definitely feel free to participate in the case as much as you'd like. I know you were quite involved with the investigative side of things with Booth, and you two were obviously doing something right, with your solve rate. So any help you give would certainly be…welcome…" She trailed off as Brennan slowly lifted her head to look at her, eyes blazing.

Across the lab, Hodgins glanced at Angela and murmured, "Oh, boy…" Nervous, Angela took a few steps closer to the table.

Her tone one of icy calm, Brennan stated, "I'm no longer participating in field work. I made that clear to the Bureau; I don't care how many agents they send over to try to convince me otherwise. Now, Dr. Addy is waiting to go examine the remains."

Perotta nodded silently; but instead of looking intimidated or annoyed or frustrated, her eyes had gone soft around the edges, sympathy filling her expression.

Now, Brennan was reluctantly leaving the lab. Angela and the others made offers for dinner, but she declined all of them. The sympathy was starting to wear on her, and for some reason she felt like crying every time Hodgins gave her that sad half-smile, or Cam patted her on the arm for no reason at all, or when Zack stumbled over sentences to avoid mentioning Booth (or the FBI), or anytime Angela so much as _looked_ at her.

Still, when she opened her door to her empty apartment, she didn't feel like being there, either.

The only place she wanted to be, Brennan had to admit to herself, was sitting across from Booth in the diner, their usual after-work routine. Rehashing a case, bickering over the merits of pie, or just sitting in companionable silence.

Throwing her bag on the couch, Brennan scolded herself silently. It wasn't going to happen… not tonight, not ever.

She sat on her couch, arms folded in front of her, hating the silence. Funny how it never really bothered her before.

She had a deadline coming up, but she had tried working on her latest novel a few times the past two weeks, and couldn't seem to get more than a sentence down. She didn't have any paperwork from a case, because she'd been staying away from any FBI related business. And, thanks to Angela and her stupid sedative, she wasn't at all tired.

Brennan sat for about five minutes before deciding the silence was going to drive her crazy. She made her way over to the stereo, just to put on some background music.

The first thing her gaze zeroed in on was her Cyndi Lauper CD, and her stomach lurched violently. She was seized with an irrational desire to hurl the disc across the room. As it was, she removed it from the shelf and slid it underneath, out of sight.

Brennan grabbed one of the jazz albums, trying to ignore his voice in her head, echoing from two years ago like a phantom. _Wow, I'd think all that free form stuff would a little bit too unpredictable for you._

She opened the CD part of the stereo and froze.

The Foreigner album was sitting in the CD player, as though they had just finished air banding around her living room to Hot Blooded (in reality, it had become a song she played often, anytime her mood needed a lift).

_What is it about Booth and me and music that always ends in disaster?_ The thought popped into her head, unbidden, and she suddenly had the ridiculous desire to laugh. The laugh died in her throat, however, never making it out, when she realized that their 'rocking out', as Booth called it later, had preceded yet _another_ time when he found himself injured in her place.

And just like that, rage gripped her, so strong Brennan couldn't see straight. The jazz album, forgotten, slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

"Fuck you, Booth," she whispered. She hadn't meant to say that out loud, wasn't even sure where that came from. She didn't believe in talking to a dead person even at a cemetery, much less alone in her apartment.

Still, the more she stared at the CD, the angrier she got. The continued silence in the apartment was choking her, and, foolishly, she wanted to fill it. "_Fuck you_!" She repeated, louder this time. Brennan violently jerked the CD from the stereo and tossed it away.

She was falling apart over this when it was his own damn fault. And _if_ he somehow could answer her, the stupid, stubborn arrogant man, he would probably still insist it was for the best. Always presuming to know what was best for her, always thinking she couldn't take care of herself.

This was because of him. He didn't deserve her grief.

She tore into her bedroom, where Brainy Smurf and Jasper the pig resided permanently on her bedside table. Brennan grabbed both of the figurines in her fist, tightening it so that the plastic dug into her skin. "I hate you," she murmured to no one, pushing aside her inner Squint voice that was insisting that there was no use speaking to a dead person. "_Damn_ you."

She let the figurines tumble from her grip and fall the floor, where she kicked first Jasper and then Brainy, as if they were nothing special.

Even after releasing the small figures, her hands balled involuntarily into fists, eager to destroy. The outrage coursing through her body was easier to deal with than overwhelming sadness, and Brennan wanted to hang onto it.

Her eyes darted wildly around the apartment, looking for anything else connected to Booth. Brennan thought unexpectedly of Angela, who, after a bad breakup, used to make an Event out of destroying anything related to her exes.

_What else did she destroy_? Gifts. That was Jasper and Brainy. Letters…but Booth never sent her any letters. Drawings, but Brennan wasn't an artist. Photographs…

Brennan scanned the apartment, as though she was expecting some photograph of Booth to manifest itself.

_I have to have one somewhere…_

Brennan rushed into the kitchen and opening up one of the less organized drawers. There were packs of photos, mostly from Angela, who occasionally got into a photography mood.

There was a whole roll Angela had taken at the lab, and Brennan rifled through them with inexplicable intensity. Booth must not have been there that day, because he wasn't in any of them.

The photos fluttered to the ground and spread out on the tile. Brennan continued to tear through Angela's photographs, not noticing that her fury was quickly being replaced by something more akin to panic.

"Damn it…" Finding nothing, Brennan slammed the door shut. She ran her trembling hands through her hair, her reason for wanting a photo of Booth completely forgotten once confronted with the realization that she didn't have any.

Again, Brennan glanced around the room, desperate, pausing at each framed photo around the room. A photo of her and Angela. The photo the team had taken last Christmas (without Booth). The photo of Russ and his family he'd sent. An old picture of her parents.

Brennan's heart hitched in her chest.

Booth was the most important person in her life, from either her biological family or her more untraditional one. Yet he was the only person not represented.

Anger completely gone, Brennan hurried to her bedroom, eyes on the floor. Brainy Smurf was easily visible in the corner of the room, and she retrieved it, but she saw the Jasper figurine had rolled under the bed when she'd kicked it.

Crouching down unsteadily, Brennan realized how violently she was shaking. Even after she had the small, plastic pig in her grip, she remained on the floor, her breathing shallow. For some reason she couldn't understand, it suddenly felt _very_ important to find a photo of Booth. And, just as irrationally, she didn't want to be in her apartment anymore.

A decision made, Brennan got to her feet and grabbed an overnight bag from her closet. She stuffed it with toiletries, several outfits, and added the figurines she was still clutching.

Then she left her apartment.

~(B*B)~

Booth had had that idiotic hide a key rock in front of his door as long as Brennan had been his partner; she remembered noticing it, with amusement, the first time she went to his apartment, their second case, when she'd first met Tessa.

Now, Brennan was relieved to find the rock still in its place, doing a miserable job of looking authentic. She pulled it apart and extracted the key from inside; after she unlocked the front door, instead of returning the key to the rock, Brennan slid it onto her own keychain.

Before she did anything else inside Booth's apartment, Brennan practically ran to the coffee table in his living room and grabbed the first framed photograph she could. Booth and Parker grinned up at her, identical charm smiles. The knots in her stomach unfurled, and tears sprang to her eyes as she stared down at Booth's image, her original intent to destroy a photo of him completely forgotten.

She stared down at the photograph for a good three minutes, memorizing it as if his image was in danger of slipping from her memory.

Finally, she stood up, and began slowly and aimlessly wandering the apartment, reveling in the proof of her partners life. She touched his familiar handwriting on a hastily scribbled grocery list. She pressed the play button on his answering machine and listened to his voice tell her to leave a message.

By the time she made it into the bedroom, tears were streaming down her face and dripping off her chin, but Brennan barely noticed.

She hesitated only briefly before curling onto his bed, on the side she knew he had slept on, burying her face in his pillow. The achingly familiar scent of him hit Brennan all at once, and she felt as though her heart was suddenly too large for her chest.

Another thought forced it's way to the forefront of her mind before she could stop it. _Booth should be here. The first time I'm in his bedroom, in his bed…he should be here with me. Maybe showing me what he meant by that 'making love' speech earlier this year._

Brennan had rarely allowed herself to even silently acknowledge feelings for Booth, beyond the undeniable fact that he was an attractive male. But hindsight was 20/20 and she had to admit that she had always thought it was an inevitability that something would happen between the two of them, something she had wanted for longer than she cared to acknowledge. That all the little moments that drew them closer together were leading somewhere amazing.

Instead, now, she couldn't help but look back and see nothing but missed opportunities. Their relationship would always be nothing more than a giant _What if?_

_What the hell were we waiting for?_

Brennan began to cry softly into Booth's pillow, and in spite of her earlier frustrations, she didn't particularly care.

That night, Brennan moved as many photos of him as she could into Booth's bedroom, including one she found of the two of them she found hanging on his refrigerator, obviously a recent one, taken the day they'd had baby Andy in the lab. Brennan vaguely recalled Angela snapping pictures of the infant, but this one was just she and Booth, smiling at each other. Brennan couldn't for the life of her understand why Booth had a copy and she didn't, but the smiles on both of their faces nearly stole her breath.

She took a shower in his bathroom, and squeezed a small, nickel sized amount of his shampoo into her palm, smelling the familiar scent for several long moments. She did the same with his aftershave, and then she pulled on one of his favorite, well worn T-shirts over her head and curled up in his bed, the room crowded with memories.

~(B*B)~

Angela was waiting for her at the lab at 8:17 a.m. the next morning, and when she saw Brennan, she broke into a delighted smile as though Brennan had just accomplished some significant feat, rather than just shown up to work like always.

"You came in at a decent hour!"

Brennan blinked, taken aback by the enthusiasm. "Why are _you_ here, Ange? You never come in before nine."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Not _never_. Just generally. And I wanted to make sure you didn't come back last night."

"I promised you, didn't I?" No need to tell Angela where she _did_ end up sleeping.

"You did." Angela peered at her friend, noting the slight puffiness around her eyes that always followed a night of crying, and Angela pulled her into a sideways hug. "You okay today?"

Brennan shrugged. "I suppose. Yes, I'm fine, actually." She paused, then said shyly, "Ange? Could you maybe do me a favor?"

"Anything, sweetie."

Trying to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably, Brennan asked, "Those photos you took, the day…we had Andy at the lab. I was wondering if I could have some copies?"

Angela's heart caught, like it often did when she spoke to Brennan lately. She nodded quickly, making herself match Brennan's light tone "Yeah, that's no problem. Actually…" She paused until Brennan looked at her. "I have a lot of rolls I took here at the lab that I never bothered to properly sort through. I could see if there's any…of use in those, too."

Grateful, Brennan smiled shakily at Angela. "That would be great, Ange. Thank you."

She nodded and smiled, and Brennan did the same. Then they both returned to work.

That was a Wednesday. No day for the rest of the week passed completely without incident.

Wednesday it was the photos, several of which Angela returned with after an extra long lunch break. Proving that her best friend had understand the reason beneath Brennan's request, all of the photos were of Booth, often of the two of them together.

After the previous night, Brennan shouldn't have been surprised by her own reaction. But after staring at the photos only briefly, she'd been forced to disappear into her office for twenty minutes.

Thursday it was another FBI agent, who was in charge of the latest case they were consulting on (Perotta's case a few days earlier had turned out to be a suicide). Special Agent Ken Roberson was arrogant and not happy about getting help from scientists.

Zack had taken care of the recovery, but Brennan was still over the examination of the remains. Roberson was hovering about three inches behind Brennan at the forensic table, sighing loudly every thirty seconds, and asking how long she was going to be every minute or so.

Finally, Brennan whirled on him, eyes blazing. "If I were you, I'd shut the hell up, and _go stand over there_. I will have my finished report for you _soon as possible_, and then you can do us both a favor and get out for good."

Angry at being spoken to like that, Roberson leered at her. "I heard you let Agent Booth be very involved in the entire process. I'd think you would extend me the same courtes - _hey_!"

In a fluid motion, Brennan twisted his arm behind his back and walked him a few paces to an empty table, shoving his face against the cool surface.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, _Agent_, but I am fairly certain you are _not_ Booth. Now get the hell out, and don't come back. I'll send the results to the Hoover, and then I don't have to see your miserable, nonsymmetrical , _disgustingly inferior_ face here again."

Practically cowering, Roberson all but ran out of the Jeffersonian. While the rest of the team gaped at her, open mouthed, Brennan, gritting her teeth, returned to her work.

Friday was the probably the worst of all. Brennan had only been at work a few hours, and was engrossed in a set of Civil War era remains, ignoring a conversation between Zack and Hodgins behind her, until one word, _bones_, floated by her and Brennan instinctually turned to answer.

Zack and Hodgins didn't notice, but Brennan's could feel the heat rising to her face as she realized that of course they hadn't been talking about her. Only Booth called her that.

And Booth was gone.

The crushing truth hit her; she was never going to hear Booth call her the nickname again.

She remembered the beginning of their partnership, when she used to protest the nickname. Over time, she recognized that the nickname was affectionate more than anything, and she had begun to honestly like that Booth had a name for her only he used. Still, he really _had_ begun saying it to annoy her, and she really _had_ been annoyed by it in the beginning.

Even so, now Brennan couldn't help but think angrily, _Why did I ever make a fuss over something so silly? Why did I never mention that I like the name?_

Brennan couldn't pinpoint the moment that she made the transition, but after a few moments of contemplation she was definitely crying, silent tears coursing down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking. Behind her, Hodgins and Zack went quiet, and Angela and Cam both stared uneasily from across the platform, unsure of what to do. When Brennan showed no signs of stopping, Angela crossed the room and gently led Brennan into her office.

She continued to sleep at Booth's apartment, returning to her own only briefly to collect more of her things. She put the photos Angela had given her up in his bedroom with the others; she kept some of his more colorful socks laying out on the bureau, in sight. She had even taken to wearing his St. Christopher medal, which she'd found the first morning in his apartment, laying by the sink.

Brennan surrounded herself with memories of Booth, proof of the life he had led, determined not to lose him completely.

In the mean time, though, she was losing herself.

The logic driven, rational part of brain was growing less and less persistent. It was shockingly easy to ignore the voice in her head that was insisting that her actions were counterproductive. That moving on meant ridding herself of constant reminders, not surrounding herself with them.

The old Temperance Brennan wouldn't have broken down in front of her coworkers several times. She wouldn't be living in Booth's apartment. She wouldn't play his voicemail recording upwards of twenty times a day, just to remember what his voice sounded like, even it cut her to the quick every time. She wouldn't dissolve into tears at the slightest provocation.

Brennan was breaking.

Saturday she vowed to spend the day writing, but after two hours of staring at a blinking cursor, she deleted everything she had so far and began furiously typing what felt more like a thirty page confessional than a novel, opening with a scene of Kathy learning her partner, Andy, had died after a bomb meant for her exploded in her office.

Brennan was pretty sure she wouldn't turn those pages in.

Sunday, she was supposed to meet Angela at Hodgins' house to go shopping; when she was a half hour late, Angela had gone, worried, to Brennan's apartment, only to find it empty there as well.

She had eventually found her, in Booth's place, the door unlocked; Brennan, dressed only in one of Booth's dress shirts, was sitting in the living room floor in abject misery because Booth's pillow now smelled more like her than him.

"Sweetie…" The first word Angela said when she entered. "Sweetie, have you been living here all week?"

Brennan nodded. She looked down at the pillow in her lap. "I can't…it smelled like Booth. But I've been sleeping on it and, and I think now it smells like me, and I need…I need to get it back." Her voice cracked, and she looked up at Angela.

Brennan's chin was quivering with the effort of keeping her voice steady, and there were tears sparkling on her eyelashes; Angela was startled by how young her best friend suddenly looked. "Okay…okay, Bren, why don't you…you could stick the pillowcase in a drawer with some of his shirts. It may take a few days but maybe…"

Brennan seemed to consider this, and then she tentatively smiled. "Yeah, that could do it. Thanks, Angela, that…that was really smart."

"Here…" Angela gently took the pillow from her. "I'll take care of it…you get dressed, alright? If you're still up for the mall?"

Brennan nodded obediently. "I am. Okay."

Angela stopped short in the doorway of Booth's bedroom, her eyes beginning to sting. "Oh, Bren…"

Photos of Booth crowded every inch of surface space in the room, and some of the ones Angela had given her recently had been taped up on the mirror. Some of Booth's more recognizable accessories, ties and pairs of socks, were laid out in plain view.

Steps behind Angela, Brennan was staring at the ground. "It's stupid," she mumbled. "It's not…it's not rational. I don't know why I did it, but…but I _needed_ to. Just like I need to be here."

"Alright," Angela said. "It's…it _is_ going to be alright, Sweetie."

Brennan nodded a little, but neither one of them honestly believed Angela's words.

~(B*B)~

They had been at the mall for about two hours. Angela was in the dressing room, for the third time at this particular store, and Brennan had tired of attempting to provide commentary. Claiming the bathroom, she was wandering around alone, still trying hard not to be embarrassed that her friend had discovered the fact that she was living at Booth's apartment.

Then she heard it.

_"Bones!"_

And, God, she knew it was scientifically impossible, but Brennan still felt like her heart was being cleaved in two.

She turned and was hit somewhere above the knees by Parker Booth. And only then did she remember that there _was_ one other person who called her by that nickname.

Rebecca wasn't far behind, and Brennan quickly crouched down to Parker's level, something she wouldn't normally do; but the all too familiar tears were prickling at her eyes like small, hot daggers, and it was one thing to cry in front of her friends (not that she was happy about that, either) and quite another to cry in front of Rebecca, whom she didn't know very well.

Forcing a painful smile, Brennan's eyes met Parker's. "Hey, Parker."

To her surprise, Parker wrapped his arms around her neck. "I haven't seen you in a real long time, Bones!"

Brennan glanced up at Rebecca, who offered her a tiny smile, before answering Parker, "I know. I've missed seeing you."

"I've missed seeing you, too! Maybe when my dad gets back from his trip we can go to the diner together again."

For a brief, horrifying moment, Brennan thought she might be sick. She swallowed hard, unable to think of an answer even if her throat hadn't closed.

She stood abruptly, finding it suddenly too difficult to meet Parker's warm brown eyes. Rebecca gave her a sympathetic smile, then said in an undertone, "This is all a little too much for him to understand, so I just told him Seeley's on an important trip for work."

Brennan wasn't sure how to respond; she just nodded, and said, "Of course." Privately she couldn't understand how that explanation was going to work in the long run. It didn't seem right to lie to him.

Parker tugged on Brennan's sleeve, not seeming at all bothered that she hadn't answered his last question. "Hey, Bones? How come you didn't go with Daddy on his work trip if you guys are _work_ partners?"

"I…I d-don't know, Parker. I guess they only needed…one of us."

This seemed to satisfy Parker, who merely nodded before returning to his original question, "So when Daddy gets back, will you come to the diner with us? And me and Daddy can get pie but you don't have to cuz you don't like it." For a second, Brennan couldn't speak around the lump in her throat. Parker looked at her, questioning. "Will you, Bones?"

Her voice catching, Brennan plastered on a tremulous smile that hurt to hold, and answered, "Of course, Parker. I'd love to."

He beamed. "Awesome! I like when you hang out with me and Daddy."

She impulsively touched her fingers to Parkers soft curls. "So do I." She looked at Rebecca. "I've got to run, Angela's waiting for me…"

"Of course." Rebecca smiled. "It was good to see you. Tell Dr. Brennan goodbye Parker."

"Bye, Bones!"

"Bye," she managed before bolting.

Brennan ducked into the dressing rooms, which were closer than any bathrooms.

Angela was standing outside one of the stalls, in front of the three way mirror, admiring a pair of jeans. Spotting Brennan in the mirror, she whipped around, "Oh, good, you're back. What's your honest opinion of-" Stopping abruptly, Angela's brow furrowed in concern. "What happened?"

"Parker," Brennan whispered, her voice thick with tears.

"Oh, Sweetie, you saw Parker?"

She began nodding. "And Rebecca. Parker , he … he just thinks Booth's coming back. That he's on a trip or something. And, and he thinks we're all just going to g-go to the diner and they'll eat pie and I won't because fruit shouldn't fucking be _cooked_." Hot tears were spilling down Brennan's cheeks, and she wondered if she would ever be done with them. "And he wanted to know why I didn't go on the _trip_ with Booth, and I should've just said that I was _supposed_ to be the one going on the stupid fucking _trip_ but he took my place…"

She was sobbing in earnest at this point in her speech, and Angela wasted no time before folding her friend into a hug, Brennan whimpering against her shoulder, "He…he called me _Bones_."

Any words she had caught in Angela's throat. She knew by now that nothing she could say was going to help Brennan; they just had to ride it out.

After a minute or so, a woman entered the dressing room holding several items over her arm. She stopped dead when she saw the scene in front of her, staring stupidly until Angela glared at her and said, "Do you _mind_?" and waved a hand toward the door as though the woman had absolutely no right to want to try on clothes in a clothing store.

Brennan drew back, the sobs dwindling to long, shuddering breaths. "I'm sorry."

"Don't ever apologize to me for this, Bren. I mean it."

"But…I _hate_ being like this. I think I've cried more in the past three weeks than I have in the past fifteen years. I can't control it…I used to be able to compartmentalize, Ange. What the hell happened to me?"

Angela regarded her best friend seriously, dark brown eyes meeting glittering blue. "I know what happened to you. But you aren't going to like the answer."

Confused, Brennan's eyebrows drew together. "I don't understand."

"What happened is that you fell in love. With Booth. And then he died because he loved you, too, and now you're the one left here with half of your heart."

Brennan's face rapidly drained of color. After a beat of silence, she stammered, "It's…if half of my heart was missing, that wouldn't be compatible with life."

A corner of Angela's lips quirked up at the very Brennan-like response. "Metaphorical heart, Sweetie. When you fall in love with someone, you give them a big part of your heart…metaphorically. And you don't get it back."

Brennan was quiet, then said softly, "I've never understood why the heart became the organ metaphorically associated with love and emotions. In actuality that's all controlled by the brain."

Angela sighed. "Sweetie, you said last week that sometimes you miss him so much it literally hurts." Brennan flushed, wondering when she became so forthright, but nodded. Gentling her voice, Angela asked, "Where does it hurt, Bren?"

Brennan was unresponsive for so long, Angela was sure she was going to choose not to answer. But then, meeting Angela's eyes with a vulnerability that made Angela's own heart ache, Brennan tentatively pressed a closed fist against her chest.

Angela nodded slowly. "See?"

Only hours later, after she'd reluctantly dropped Brennan back at Booth's apartment, did Angela realize that in all Brennan's talk about the literal vs. metaphorical heart, she never protested Angela's assertion that she had fallen in love with Booth.

~(B*B)~

"…97, 98, 99, 100." Booth flopped down on his back, muscles burning, sweat pooled on his forehead. He'd just finished his third set of sit-ups.

From the next room, Agent Brown laughed at him. "Don't know why you bother, Seeley. No ladies around to be impressed."

"Like he needs help with that. My secretary doesn't get a damn thing done with he's in the building," Agent Latham put in from his place at the table next to Brown. They were bent over the latest transcripts sent from the man they had inside Reynolds' old crime team.

Booth tipped a bottle of water down his throat. "It's more to stop me from turning my gun on all of you and running like hell away from this place," he corrected them, earning laughs in spite of the fact that he was mostly serious.

Their inside man had recently sent assurances that Reynolds's was 'definitely making preparations to rejoin.' Information was coming much quicker since Booth had contacted Cullen, the only person the phone in the safehouse could dial out to, demanding to know just how long they were supposed to wait. He couldn't be dead forever, after all, and what if Reynolds never made a move?

The phone rang, and Brown, closest, picked it up. "Brown." He listened, smiling slightly. "Sure thing." He held the receiver in Booth's direction. "Phone for you."

Taking another gulp of water, Booth crossed the room and took the phone. "Booth."

"Hey, Daddy!"

Booth grinned instantly. "Parks! How are ya, buddy?" He asked, grabbing a chair and settling into it.

"I'm good! Are you coming home yet?"

Booth felt a familiar stab of pain somewhere along his gut. "Not quite yet, Bub."

"Oh." Parker sounded disappointed.

"What have you been up to?"

Instantly animated again, his son began giving him a play by play account of his week, from his last soccer practice to the story his teacher was reading him in class. Booth asked questions and exclaimed in all the right places.

"Oh! And Mommy made me go _shopping_ with her, which _sucked_-"

"_Parke_r," he admonished.

"Sorry, it _stunk_, but we saw Bones there!"

Booth automatically sat up a little straighter. "Really?" He was instantly relieved; in the past few days, he had allowed his mind to dwell on a couple extreme scenarios. What if Bones had been hurt? Who would be able to inform him? None of the other squints knew he was alive (something he also felt guilty about.)

"Yeah! She said she missed seeing me, and I asked her if when you got back from your trip we could all go to the diner. I told her we'd get pie but she didn't have to since she thinks it's yucky."

Booth smiled. "What'd she say to that?"

"She said she'd love to go."

Booth closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to imagine being in the dinner with his two favorite people in the world. Suddenly, he missed Parker and Bones so much it ached. His voice slightly rougher, he answered, "That's great, Parks. I can't wait."

"Me either."

Still eager for any tidbit on his partner, Booth asked, "Did Bones seem okay, buddy?"

There was a pause, and then Parker said, "I guess so. She looked kind of sad when I first went over to her. And when I asked about the diner, she smiled in that funny way that Mommy does when she's about to cry."

His heart hitched in his chest. So she did miss him. Booth could definitely relate. He thought briefly of the last time he'd seen Bones, standing over him, terrified, pleading with him not to slip away. He'd never seen her like that.

It couldn't be easy for her, pretending he was dead, especially when the last image she had of him was him bleeding out on the floor of a karaoke bar, or maybe being wheeled off into surgery.

Maybe she really hadn't been given the number.

"Daddy? I think Bones wants you to come home soon, too," Parker told him solemnly.

Speaking around the lump forming in his throat, Booth answered, "I want that, too, Bub. You have no idea how much."

_A/N: Hope you're enjoying! Please take the time to review, they are so addicting! _


	3. Rescued

_Hey everyone, thanks for all the amazing reviews! I love that you guys are liking this. Also, I know I promised rapid updates, but I'm fairly certain I won't be able to post again for another week….I've been working camp in the mountains for a few weeks now, and the place I'm staying for this week's session doesn't have wireless. I may have a chance to get to a place that does at some point for a few minutes, but If not, I will post the new few chapters next weekend. Hopefully getting the first three within two days wilAl help._

_Also, thanks to those of you who have asked about Shattered. The next chapter of that is definitely in the works, but as I said, I've been working at camp, so I haven't had much time to write (all these chapters were finished already). This coming week is my last week here, so I am going to try to have the new update up soon after that._

_Reviews are love. Do them._

**Chapter Three**

_Rescued_

_I can hear it, the jet engine  
Through the center of the storm  
And I'm thinking I'd  
Prefer not to be rescued_

_~Jack's Mannequin, Rescued_

Deputy Director Cullen's phone was ringing. He was momentarily annoyed that his receptionist hadn't alerted him about the caller, until he glanced down at the Caller ID and noticed it was the direct line from the safehouse in Virginia. Snatching it up, he answered briskly, "Cullen."

"It's Booth."

"What's happening?"

The agent's tone was mild, "Nothing much. _Still_. But I have a question."

Cullen groaned. "You understand, Booth, the direct line is there for emergencies. I understand you're bored, but I'm not here to field your complaints-"

"No complaining this time, sir. I have a question."

Sighing, Cullen relented, "Fine. Let's hear it."

"Are you sure that Bon – Dr. Brennan was given the correct phone number?"

Cullen instantly fell silent, guilt seizing him. He contemplated how to answer the question, then, choosing his words carefully, stated, "Everyone on the approved list was given the phone number, Booth. The same agent informed all of them of the situation."

Booth sighed, sounding completely disappointed. Cullen's guilt intensified. "Alright. Sorry to bother you, sir."

"Keep it up, Booth. This will be over before you know it."

Soon, Cullen hung up, feeling bad about the almost lie.

He had taken Dr. Brennan off the approved list after considering her proximity to others close to Agent Booth. He was pretty sure the bluntly honest woman wasn't a good enough actress to convince the other squints that she believed Booth was dead, and once it got out to one Squint, they'd all know.

Cullen took his national security very seriously.

Plus, he felt that Dr. Brennan could handle it. Booth's parents, his brother, his son…those were all understandable. But Cullen felt that keeping it family only was the best bet for this situation. During the anthropologist's father's trial, Dr. Sweets had even recommended that Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan not be separated on the grounds that she was very "compartmentalized".

But he was afraid to mention this to Booth; the agent was clearly already regretting his decision, and the last thing he needed was Booth, the crux of the investigation, balking and throwing it all away.

In a few weeks, they'd catch that bastard Reynolds at last, and everything would be fine.

~(B*B)~

Although it seemed like an insignificant day at the time, even a good day by recent standards, it was that Monday, the day after the incident in the mall, that everything began to really unravel.

Brennan got into work at exactly 11:52 a.m, and Angela was waiting for her. "Where have you been?" she demanded instantly.

"I had a meeting."

"Yeah, with your lawyer. Cam told me."

"Then why did you ask?"

Angela ignored the comment and pressed, "Brennan, why were you meeting with a lawyer?"

Attempting a casual tone, Brennan began rummaging through her desk drawers as she answered, "Updating my will."

When she finally glanced up, she was met with Angela's horrified expression. Sighing, Brennan told her, "It's not a particularly dramatic event."

"But…._why_ on earth do you need to update your will?"

"I'm an adult with a good amount of fiscal resources, and I have a dangerous job." She stopped briefly, but Angela didn't point out that her job had, as of late, gotten a lot less dangerous, now that she was once again confined to the lab. She lifted her chin slightly, voice bordering on defensive. "It's not unheard of, Angela."

Angela exhaled slowly, then said honestly, "It scares me, Bren."

Not pretending to misunderstand her, Brennan met Angela's eyes. "No reason to be, Ange."

She wasn't completely sure whether or not she was lying.

~(B*B)~

When it began, it was just the usual, unavoidable stuff. Brennan thought it was a natural reaction.

Pam Nunan had meant to shoot and kill her. Booth stood up in front of her, and died instead.

Of _course_ Brennan wished it had been her.

~(B*B)~

Tuesday morning, Angela came barreling into Brennan's office as soon as she arrived at work. "We're going away."

Brennan glanced up. "Who is?"

"Me and you. And probably Jack, because he loves going to his cabin, and would probably throw a fit if we went without him. But don't worry, he'll stay out of our way."

Uncomprehending, Brennan just blinked up at her. "What cabin?"

Angela perched herself on the corner of Brennan's desk. "Well, not really a _cabin_ cabin. More like a four bedroom, five bath, flat screens and gas fireplaces cabin. The millionaire's version of roughing it, I guess. It's in West Virginia, in the mountains."

"Ange, I can't miss work-"

"Yes, you can. You could have taken off all last week and it wouldn't have mattered. Brennan, you need this. It'll be good for you."

Brennan continued to look confused. "I don't understand the benefits of going out of town."

"To clear your head. Get away from DC, from murder, from the FBI, from Booth's apartment." Seeing Brennan's continued puzzlement, Angela sighed. "Just trust me on this, Brennan. You will thank me after. And believe it or not, you might enjoy it. There's a place about half a mile from the cabin that Jack goes rock climbing, and there's a lake and a pier right in the backyard…"

Brennan hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Just for a few days, Brennan. I already asked Cam. I even invited her, and Zack, but she said she needed them here at the lab if all three of us were leaving."

Brennan sighed; she honestly didn't think there was anything to be gained from going to Hodgins' cabin; after all, she could get as far from DC as she wanted, and it wouldn't change anything. Booth would still be gone, and that gnawing pain in her chest wasn't going away anytime soon.

Still, she could see how much Angela wanted this. And Angela had been doing everything she could to be there for Brennan, not even blinking at the sudden change in Brennan's entire demeanor.

"Okay." Angela broke into a relieved smile. "Okay, Ange. Just for a few days."

"Great! We can drive up tonight. I told Cam we'd be gone through the rest of the week."

~(B*B)~

Sometimes Brennan wondered what would have happened if she hadn't killed Pam Nunan.

The woman had been taking aim to finish what she'd tried to start. If Brennan hadn't been able to grab Booth's gun and shoot, there was a good chance Brennan, too, would be dead.

When she wished Booth hadn't stood up in front of her, it was different. It was a case of Booth dead and her alive vs. her dead and him alive, and the latter was her obvious preference. Brennan could convince herself it was more about Booth than her. Like, she wished he had the chance to watch Parker grow up, or to complete his 'cosmic balance' sheet.

She told herself it wasn't about her not wanting to be alive when he wasn't.

Still, there wasn't a way to rationalize it when she started wishing she hadn't shot Pam.

It seemed so trite and melodramatic, like the end of some Shakespeare tragedy. The idea that they could have just died together, and it would have all been over.

Brennan knew what Angela would say. She'd say that Booth had given his life to save Brennan, and if anything happened to her, he would have died for nothing.

But why did _he _get to be the one to make that choice?

~(B*B)~

After work, Brennan went back to Booth's place to pack. Trying not to analyze her own motives, she shoved a couple of Booth's shirts into the bag with her own outfits, and she also added a couple of the photos, as well as the pig and smurf figurines.

Soon after she finished packing, Angela texted her to let her know they were downstairs.

"Hey, Dr. B," Hodgins said, smiling broadly as he opened the trunk of his car for her to throw her bag in. "Glad you decided to join us."

Brennan stiffened slightly, suddenly awkward, afraid she might be intruding on a couple's getaway. Glancing at Angela, who waved at her from the front seat, she said hesitantly, "Thanks, but if you guys wanted to be alone-"

"Hey, no way. Angie planned this totally for you and her. I'm the one that invited myself along." He grinned at her. "You like to climb, right?" She nodded. "There's a couple good places there. Pretty basic, but it's tough enough to be a challenge. Ange figured we could go tomorrow."

"Sounds good." She opened the door to the back seat and climbed in as Hodgins went around to the driver's side.

"Hey, Sweetie," Ange beamed at her, clearly determined to keep the mood light for this trip. "I'm really glad you're coming."

She smiled. "Me, too."

~(B*B)~

It was late when they got to the 'cabin', and true to Angela's word, it wasn't at all rustic.

Brennan took a bedroom on the ground floor, down the hall from the one Hodgins and Angela went into.

"Anyone up for a movie? Or a game?"

Angela smirked at her fiancée. "That's tempting, _Dad_, but I'm about to fall asleep."

Hodgins shrugged, and turned to Brennan. "Dr. B?"

She glanced out the window to the backyard, where she could see the moon's reflection on the lake. "Thanks, but I may just go sit out on the dock for awhile. If that's okay, I mean."

"Yeah, no problem."

Angela, who had been about to head to the bedroom, turned around. "Want some company?"

Brennan raised her eyebrows. "I thought you were tired."

"Well, yeah, but….I mean, if you wanted to talk-"

Smiling, Brennan let her off the hook. "I'm fine, Ange."

"Okay. Make sure you get some sleep, though, if we're getting up early to climb."

"I will. Night, you guys."

"Night, Sweetie."

"Goodnight Dr. B."

~(B*B)~

An hour later, Hodgins felt the bed shift beneath him as Angela, once again, sat up and peered out the window to the backyard.

"You okay, Angie?" he mumbled against his pillow

"She's still out there."

He rubbed his eyes. "That's okay. You know Brenan doesn't sleep as much as normal people."

"Don't make fun of her," Angela told him softly, her voice tinged with sadness.

"I was just joking, Ange." Hodgins sat up next to her, wrapping an arm around her. "I thought you were tired, babe."

Angela sighed shakily. "I was, it's just…" She looked fleetingly out the window, where Brennan's silhouette was visible, sitting at the edge of the dock. "Is she gonna be okay?"

Jack moved behind his fiancée, resting his chin on her shoulder as his hands ran comfortingly up and down her arms. "I don't know. It's going to take some time."

"I'm just worried about her. I've known Brennan for fifteen years, and I've never seen her like this."

Hodgins was quiet for a moment, then he said slowly, "When Brennan and I were buried…" Angela turned her head and looked at him; he rarely talked about the Gravedigger kidnapping. "You know I wrote you a letter…just in case." Angela nodded. "Dr. B, before we set off the explosion, she wrote a letter, too. And I wasn't _trying_ to look, but I saw the name at the top. It was to Booth."

"Wow." Angela exhaled slowly.

"Yeah, and the whole time we were down there…she was so sure Booth was going to come through. It's like _I_ was the pessimistic one. She just _knew_ he was going to save her. And even before that…I saw them, after he saved her from Kenton. It was like the rest of us weren't even in the room. And Booth, he was practically falling over from his broken ribs but…he lifted her off that hook like it was nothing."

"And he took a bullet for her, and died for it." Angela breathed. "God, he really loved her."

"Yeah, no question. But I think it might be worse for her…to be the one still around."

~(B*B)~

Brennan was sitting on the edge of the dock, her feet dipped in the lake, making circles in the surface.

She glanced up, the stars much more visible here in the mountains than back in the city. It had been years since she had tried, but she could still pick out Delphinius, the dolphin. Brennan leaned back until she was flat on her back, staring at the stars.

Her thoughts turned, inevitably, to Booth, this time to his irrational belief in Heaven. It wasn't fair, that he had so much faith in a supposedly merciful God who was watching out for him. Yet he'd died at thirty-five.

Of course, maybe his belief in Heaven was the reason he was so cavalier about risking his life. Firmly believing that there was some utopia waiting after death would surely make the idea of dying easier.

Would it make it easier for her, if she was able to ignore scientific facts and believe there was some part of Booth out there somewhere, that she'd see again someday?

Brennan's throat tightened. _Yes_. She wished she could believe in that. To see Booth again…there was so much she had never said. She'd never thanked him for everything he had done for her. Never even told him how much his friendship had meant to her.

And then there was Angela's theory; about her being in love with him.

Intellectually, Brennan understood that love was a chemical process when dopamine and norepinephrine simulated euphoria thanks to biological triggers. But understanding the science behind love wasn't the same as not believing in it. After all, observation was a part of scientific inquiry, as well, and had to be used for drawing a conclusion.

And she was pretty sure that if she was ever going to fall in love with anyone, it would have been Booth. Maybe Angela was right, and she already ha.

Impulsively, Brennan stood and, glancing back at the house to make sure it was dark, pulled off her shirt and dove over the side of the dock.

Submerged, the silence of underwater surrounded her, except for the water throbbing in her ears. She swam deeper, until her palms hit the bottom of the lake. She curled her nails around a rock, anchoring herself underwater.

Brennan stayed underwater as long as she could, until her throat began convulsing, wanting to inhale, and her lungs became sore and desperate. Finally, when she couldn't wait any longer, she pushed herself toward the surface, gasping for air, letting it fill her, easing the ache.

If only it was all that easy.

~(B*B)~

"Your eyes are bugging out, babe." Hodgins said with a grin, reaching over to loosen the straps on Angela's helmet.

Angela grinned back. "Thanks, Jack. And by the way…you look sexy in all the climbing gear."

His grin widened, and he leaned forward, lightly brushing her lips with his. "Then maybe I'll bring it back to the house tonight."

A few yards away, Brennan was double checking her harness and watching her friends, their interaction spurring a dull pang in her chest that she didn't understand.

Clearing his throat, Jack turned toward her. "You good, Dr. B?"

She stood. "Yeah, I'm good."

They had spent the morning rock climbing at several different sites, and now, after eating lunch on a blanket, although she hadn't really been hungry, they had decided to rappel back down.

Brennan walked to the edge, threading the rope through the locking carabiner and beginning the necessary knots. Next to her, Hodgins was doing the same to Angela's harness.

When they finished double checking, Hodgins waved a hand at them before beginning to work with his own ropes. "Ladies first. You guys go ahead."

Angela glanced down nervously. "Okay…"

Hodgins smiled sweetly at her. "The hardest part is letting go. After that, you'll love it."

She tentatively returned it. "Thanks." She glanced to her right at her best friend. "Ready, Sweetie?"

"I'm ready."

Angela leaned back, gripping the rope in front of her with one hand, and behind her back with the other. "Bren. Your helmet isn't strapped."

"Oh, right. Thanks, Ange." Brennan watched as Angela nervously loosened her grip enough to begin easing down the rock, squealing slightly with delight at having accomplished that.

Brennan touched one side of the straps of her helmet, toying with it for a few seconds, then let her hand dropped without buckling it.

She began her own descent, pushing off the rock with her feet, loosening her grip on the rope for longer periods of time as she bounced away from the mountain, quickly passing Angela, who was very slowly easing backward on the rocks.

She'd been going for only about two minutes when it happened. She had jumped back and was soaring back toward the mountain, her feet out in front, and the sole of right foot hit an jagged rock protruding from the side of the mountain.

"Damn it…" Sucking in a ragged breath, Brennan threw herself instinctively to the side, away from the offending rock. As she did so, another jagged edge sliced against her shoulder. Hissing in pain, Brennan automatically grabbed at the cut, losing her grip on the rope with the other hand, as well.

Then, she was falling.

~(B*B)~

Up at the top, Jack had been observing Angela and Brennan's descent, occasionally shouting tips down to his fiancée. Now, he was beginning to secure his own rope, ready to join them.

Then, his insides froze as he heard Angela scream.

"Angie!" He stared over the edge and saw his fiancée, unhurt, staring down.

His eyes slid, and there was Brennan, a good twenty feet below Angela, crumpled on a ledge, no helmet, not moving.

"Jack…" Angela called up, her voice nearly hysterical. "Jack, _do_ something!"

His heart hammering somewhere between his chest and throat, Hodgins struggled to think straight. "Just…I'm gonna call for help, Angela…can you get to her?"

"I…I d-don't know…" Angela was trembling all over, and she was afraid to even move. She closed her eyes, fighting back the nausea that had gripped her the second she had glanced back and saw Brennan falling.

"Angela." She looked up. Hodgins had his cell phone in his hand, but he made sure to meet her eyes. "You can do this, Angie. I know you can. Brennan needs you to go check on her."

Tears were streaking down Angela's cheeks, but she nodded. She loosened her grip and began walking backwards on the rocks, heading diagonally downward. Her legs were shaking beneath her, and it was slow going. Her voice choked, she called up, "Is help coming?"

No longer visible, Jack's voice floated down from somewhere away from the edge. "I'm not getting a signal…"

Angela squeezed her eyes shut, choking on sobs. She hadn't seen where Brennan was at the time, so she had no way of knowing how far she'd fallen before hitting the ledge.

Finally, _finally_, Angela made it the ledge. Her fingers fumbling to loosen her rope, she crouched down next to her friend.

"Brennan?" No response. Practically crying, Angela tried again, "Bren, please…"

Her shoulder was bleeding, and so was a place on her stomach to a lesser extent. But Angela knew the biggest risk was to her back and head...the helmet was nowhere in sight.

"Ange?" Hodgins' voice was much further away.

"She…she isn't waking up, Jack," Angela called, her voice hitching.

"What?"

But Angela couldn't answer again. She gingerly touched Brennan's hair, whispering thickly, "Sweetie, please…c'mon, Bren, please be okay…"

Her eyes fluttered, and Angela's heart nearly stopped. Then, her best friend moaned quietly, and Angela almost fainted with relief.

"Ange?"

"Oh, thank God…" Angela cried, her face pressed into her palms briefly. She looked up and called, "She's awake, Jack!"

Brennan was struggling to sit up, and Angela touched her shoulder gently. "Lay back, Sweetie. What hurts?"

Staring blearily up at Angela, Brennan told her, "My…my head. And my back. And…and my shoulder…"

Still absently stroking Brennan's hair, Angela asked quietly, "You remember what happened?"

"I…I fell. I hurt my shoulder and I…I accidentally let go and I couldn't…"

"It's okay," Angela soothed. "It's alright, Bren, it happens. Are you dizzy at all?"

Brennan shook her head, once again struggling to sit up. "I'm okay…it's fine."

"Jack's calling for help."

Brennan shook her head again, more vehemently this time. "Not necessary. I'm fine."

Before Angela could protest, Hodgins' head appeared above them. "Ange? Dr. B?"

"I'm fine, Hodgins," Brennan called weakly. "We can just continue…"

"No way, it's too far down. I rigged up the climbing gear, I'll be down in a second. Ange and I can spot you going up, and then we can go the hospital."

"It's really not necessary-"

"Brennan," Angela interrupted. "Please."

Soon, Hodgins reached them, crowding the ledge. Soon, he was untying knots and switching equipment until they were ready to climb the shorter distant up instead of rappelling down.

As soon as she started climbing, Brennan was seized with a wave of dizziness and she froze, bile rising in the back of her throat as she fought nausea.

"You okay, Sweetie?" Angela called from behind her.

"Fine," she managed to force out between gritted teeth.

"Take your time, Dr. B," Hodgins added, nervously watching her.

It was slow going; Brennan's whole body was throbbing painfully. As soon she reached the top, Brennan stumbled toward a grassy area, where she fell hard to her knees and vomited.

Angela and Hodgins climbed over seconds later, exchanging a glance. _Concussion_, Hodgins mouthed at her, and Angela nodded.

When Brennan stood up again, wiping her mouth. Angela walked over and gently rolled up her sleeve, pressing a towel over the cut there. "We're gonna take you to a hospital, Sweetie. You probably have a concussion."

For once, Brennan didn't argue, merely nodding.

"What happened, Bren?"

Hodgins was silent as Brennan gave Angela a brief explanation for her fall. He was worried. Angela wouldn't pick up on it; she was new at climbing. But he was a seasoned climber, and so was Brennan.

Her helmet hadn't been fastened. That was undeniable. And he knew Angela had reminded her at the top. But it was more than that. Letting go of a rappelling rope wasn't exactly unheard of, especially when another injury happened, but it wasn't something Brennan would usually be careless enough to do. That was usually the instinct of novice climbers, not experienced ones.

Also, when Hodgins had been changing her equipment, he'd noticed that she hadn't added an autoblock knot to her ropes, a basic safety measure that added friction on the descent in the event of a fall.

It wasn't that Jack thought Brennan had fallen on purpose. He just wasn't sure what the uncharacteristically cavalier approach to safety might suggest.


	4. Little House

_A/N: I found wireless! Haha. Not sure how frequent I'll be able to come here, but at least this is a pretty good size chapter to tide you over._

_Your reviews are awesome. I'm glad everyone is bearing with the angst…and that you aren't finding Brennan too OOC. I know she technically is…canon Bren would never go here. But what I'm exploring is the idea that this loss is the one that finally breaks her. We don't know what would have happened if she had to continue to believe Booth was gone, longer than she was able to hold herself together and compartmentalize away. So hopefully you guys are getting that. The chapter title song is by the Fray, and really really sums up Bren's state of mind in all this. Give it a listen._

_Also, one more thing: it is probably becoming clear I love Brennan and Angela's friendship, and there's a good element of that in this story to go along with the B/B love and angst, particularly in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy that as much as I enjoyed exploring it a little._

_Chapter Four_

_Little House_

_She doesn't look, she doesn't see  
Opens up for nobody  
Figures out, she figures out  
Narrow line, she can't decide  
Everything short of suicide  
Never hurts, nearly works_

Something is scratching  
Its way out  
Something you want  
To forget about

~The Fray

It was late that evening when they finally got back to the cabin. Brennan had stitches in her shoulder, a concussion, and was loaded up with painkillers. Amazingly, her back was only badly bruised and sore.

"Not exactly the relaxing vacation I had in mind," Angela stated apologetically as they entered the house.

"It's not your fault, Ange. I was being careless," Brennan assured her.

"Well, look, we are right there with you tonight. You don't get to sleep, we won't sleep, either."

Brennan's eyes darted from Angela to Hodgins. They both looked exhausted.

"You don't need to do that, Ange." Cutting her off before she could protest, Brennan continued, "Really. You're both tired, you've been climbing all day. I'm going to get a little work done on the new book."

Angela still looked doubtful.

"Look, let me make dinner tonight," Brennan said. "You guys can shower, and I'll start cooking. We can hang in together-"

"Out, Dr. B." Hodgins said, biting back a smile.

"Hang out, then. We can hang out tonight, but you two shouldn't stay up all night just because I have a concussion."

Angela gave her a half-smile. "Okay."

"You sure you don't mind cooking, Dr. B? The kitchen's fully stocked and everything, but I definitely don't mind calling in some takeout."

Brennan shook her head. "It's the least I can do, after you guys had to sit in the ER for three hours. "

"We didn't mind, Sweetie."

"Still."

Hodgins rubbed his hands together. "Then I won't turn down a chance to try your famous cuisine. Booth used to rave about your macaroni…." Angela threw him a death glare, and Hodgins instantly flushed. "Sorry."

Awkward silence hung for a few seconds, then Brennan, swallowing painfully, said in a tone of forced normalcy, "Actually, macaroni and cheese sounds great."

~(B*B)~

She was regretting the food decision pretty quickly.

The smell of the macaroni was filling the kitchen as she chopped vegetables for a salad, and Brennan was thinking about the first time she cooked the dish for Booth.

She'd been so nervous, even as she told herself it was just a casual dinner for her partner. She had _really_ wanted him to like the food, and when he'd grinned and complimented her, her sense of accomplishment had been greater than when they'd solved their last case.

Just like that, Brennan's vision blurred, her chest aching.

She didn't understand this; thanks to a myriad of painkillers she'd gotten at the hospital, her head and back were barely even a dull ache at the moment.

But that pain in her chest, in her throat? It was as raw as it had been two and a half weeks ago.

Brennan understood the biology, the _science_ of physical pain. She knew about nerves and stimulants and all of that. That was easy; it made perfect sense.

The rest of it, though, she couldn't even begin to understand.

She finished the last slice of the tomatoes and stood, the knife shaking in her hand. And maybe what happened next was an accident; maybe it was just a pain she could make sense of. It all became hazy, because all of a sudden there was blood, flowing down from a horizontal cut on Brennan's wrist and covering her left palm, and as she stared down at her hand, the kitchen dissolved, her lungs shrank, the room spinning.

_Booth was on the floor, and her hand, the one that wasn't clutching his, was pressed against his chest. Blood was seeping through, too much blood. She couldn't stop it, nothing she did could stop it…_

_She wanted to see him, before they took him to surgery, but she'd been stuck at the karaoke bar, stammering through the policemen's questions. Now, she stood in the hallway at the hospital, staring at the elevator where Cam said they'd taken him, just moments before she got there. She looked down at her hands, stained red with his blood. _

Brennan's stomach clenched, her throat constricting as she stared, horrified, at the blood covering her hand. She couldn't get enough air, couldn't focus her vision.

"Brennan?"

Angela stepped behind her, took one look at the scene in front of her and let out a strangled scream.

Angela's face came into focus for a nanosecond, and then Brennan fainted.

One week before her sixteenth birthday, Temperance Brennan moved into her fourth foster home.

All the others had been extremely short lived. The first had been crowded, with two biological kids and four other foster kids. The parents hadn't been particularly involved, but they weren't mean or ignorant or anything like that, either. But Temperance had been adverse to the entire situation, and had complained to her social worker several times until she was moved; it was as though she thought they might run out of foster homes and she'd be allowed to return to her own home, empty as it was.

The people in the second foster home were extremely kind, with two other kids they had adopted out of the system, both younger than Temperance. But after two months, they mentioned that they were thinking about adopting _her_.

They thought she would be thrilled, but the idea filled her with a sense of dread. Her parents would be back for her. And she had to be ready.

So Temperance had done the only thing she could think of; she'd taken their car without permission or a license, and deliberately crashed it, just down the street against a tree. So they had called her social worker and requested that she be placed somewhere else..

The third family, who had no children of their own and no other foster kids living there, were disappointed with her from the beginning. They also requested an alternate placement for her as soon as they could, citing personality clashes as the reason. But the foster mother had assured Temperance, while patting her arm and handing her garbage bags to pack, that it wasn't anything to do with _her_…they had merely expected someone younger.

And so she'd ended up in a new town, a new school, and living with the Hurwitz's, Tom and Monica. There was one other foster kid when she got there, a ten year old boy named Jordan. He was removed two weeks after Temperance moved in, having complained to his social worker enough to be listened to.

After her history, however…her social worker wasn't inclined to listen to her multiple requests for yet another removal.

The Hurwitz's had rules. No more than five minutes in the shower. No more than three minutes in the bathroom at other times. No music or television after six. Complete your (many) chores before dinner, except for dish washing. No shoes on in the house. No feet on the furniture.

Don't lock your bedroom door.

That one was the worst. It meant Tom could enter at any time he wanted. It meant if he ever felt the need for a punching bag or, worse, sex, he could come in and do whatever he wanted.

And the abuse, both physical and sexual, wasn't even considered a punishment. They were just normal, frequent occurrences. If a rule was broken, they were much more creative. No food for the next day or two. No leaving a certain room for a day. Giving up one of your precious few possessions, for good. Standing inside a closet for hours. No sleeping in your bed for the night.

It got to the point where Temperance was afraid to go home.

At the same time, though, something good happened. For the first time since probably fifth grade, she had a real best friend.

Angela Montenegro _decide_d to be friends with her. Brennan was given very little choice in the matter, not that she ever wanted to protest.

Angela hadn't been at the school very long herself, and she intimidated most of the other kids. Even at sixteen she had perfected her bohemian artist look, differentiating herself from the others. Temperance, too, was different, but not in a way that was considered good by high school standards.

The thing was, Angela was fascinated by her. She was obviously brilliant, but outside of science class, she rarely said a word. After a week of observing her, Angela approached her at her locker after school, introduced herself, nicknamed Temperance 'Bren' and announced that they were going to be friends.

Brennan told her from the beginning she was a foster kid. It was already a rumor around school, one that had been interesting for about half a second before a break up took precedence. It took a month, though, before Brennan admitted the truth about what went on at her foster home.

She had made Angela, after a lot of protesting, promise not to tell. She wanted to finish the school year, she said. Her social worker had already ignored her early requests to be moved. She had a thousand excuses, but Angela had a feeling she was just afraid.

It was two months after that, when Brennan didn't show up at school on Monday, that Angela knew something was very wrong. She called Brennan's house and spoke to her foster mother, Monica, who said she was sick.

Angela knew she was lying; Brennan came to school through strep throat and stomach viruses. Nothing could make her stay at the house more than was strictly necessary.

So Angela called the police, told her everything she knew, and they had gone to the house to find Brennan, unconscious in the trunk of a car, bruises all over, dried blood caked on one side of her face. They'd arrested Tom and Monica, and Brennan had been loaded into an ambulance.

Angela was beside her bed in the hospital early the next morning when Brennan woke up.

A few days later, Brennan was released, and had to move to a different foster home, an hour away from Angela.

The two continued to write letters through high school, and once she got a car, Angela managed to visit a handful of times, as Brennan worked her way through several other foster homes. She told Angela about how she was learning martial arts, and how she was taking college courses at some local community colleges to get ahead.

Then, the second semester of their senior year, a phone call came to Brennan's ninth and final foster home.

"Hey, Sweetie, it's me. Guess what? I got in! And I _know _you did, too, so here's what I'm thinking…"

And so they roomed together at Northwestern, something they had joked about back in their sophomore year.

One night, in the second semester of their freshmen year of college, Angela was on her way from a friend's to meet Brennan at the library, where she practically lived, for some late night help on a science paper due the next day; Angela was late. She was walking down a path, surrounded by trees, when a guy who was standing under a telephone poll, smoking a cigarette, shot her a smile and a wolf whistle and called her over.

She hadn't even gotten a word out before he was shoving her into the bushes, covering her body with his, flashing a knife and ordering her to be quiet.

As she took in the primal lust in his eyes, the tight grip on knife, the weight of his knees on her stomach, Angela was almost positive she was going to die.

He shoved his hand under her skirt, his fingers tearing at her underwear. Tears streaked from the corner of her eyes, sliding down her temple. She screamed twice, thrashing under the stranger until he touched the knife to the skin on her arm and sliced, a flesh wound, but enough to make her cry out, then immediately quiet.

He changed his area of attack, hand snaking up her shirt, shoving her bra out of his way and squeezing her breast hard. Angela's eyes darted to his other hand, but he was careful to never relinquish a grip on the knife.

Angela squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding in her ears, and she prayed silently, something she rarely did. Suddenly, the weight was completely off her, and Angela froze, unwilling to let herself believe it.

When she had the courage to open her eyes, she saw nothing but trees and the dark sky.

There was a scuffling to her right, and Angela rolled over to see Brennan, crouched over Angela's attacker, his arm twisted behind her back, kneeling on the back of his legs.

"_Disgusting_ bastard," Brennan hissed. The knife was now several feet away, in the grass. "Ange, you need to find a phone, call campus police."

Nodding, her heart still lodged in her throat, Angela ran until she found one of the emergency phones that were stationed at random around campus.

She didn't say another word until the campus police arrived and relieved Brennan of her position. They took Brennan's statement as enough, and were taking the guy away when Brennan wrapped an arm around Angela and led her toward their dorm.

Instantly, the numbness faded and Angela dissolved into tears against Brennan's shoulder. Brennan led her to a bench, where they sat together for several minutes, Angela crying quietly.

Finally, she managed to say, "Thank you."

"Don't. You don't need to."

Angela drew a trembling breath. "You saved me."

"You saved me, too. Twice."

Angela drew back, looking at her in confusion. "Twice?"

In a rare display of tenderness, Brennan brushed back a piece of hair that was sticking to Angela's damp cheek. "Yes. Twice. Once because you cared enough to wonder where I was. And before that…because I honestly don't know _what_ I might have done, all those months with the Hurwitz's…if it hadn't been for you." Brennan smiled, just a little. "I'm glad I got to return the favor."

~(B*B)~

Angela and Hodgins were sitting in a hospital waiting room, for the second time that day. Angela held several crumpled tissues in her fists; tears kept pooling her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. Hodgins, sipping a cup of coffee just to have something to do, had his arm around her.

Breaking a ten minute long silence, Hodgins turned to Angela. "She'll be okay."

"That's not the point, is it?," Angela choked out.

"Baby, you don't know what happened. And I told you, the passing out had nothing to do with blood loss. She barely ate anything at lunch-"

"Like always."

"-and she was on all the pain medication. Add the concussion and exhaustion…it was just a bad coincidence."

"She had the knife, Jack," Angela whispered, her expression haunted.

"She was making a salad…It could've been an accident. She didn't do any real damage…she'll just need a few stitches."

"And she didn't buckle her helmet earlier."

His head snapped up at this. "You noticed that?"

"Concussion, Hodgins. It's hard not to notice." Her voice caught, but Angela continued anyway, "And she updated her will…"

"Stop," Hodgins said, firm but gentle at the same time. "Brennan isn't like that."

Angela shook her head. "Bren isn't like a lot of things she's been lately. She's different. Everything's different. And it's not like I can even blame her." She swiped at her eyes again. "She lost him, Jack. She loved him and they never got their chance because he died for her. And it broke her. She's just…she's _not _going to be alright."

He squeezed her shoulder, not sure that there was anything he could say.

A few moments later, a doctor approached her, the same one they had spoken to earlier. "Temperance is awake, and she's doing fine. We stitched the cut on her hand, but there was no significant blood loss. Most likely, she fainted as a result of taking such strong pain medication on an empty stomach. We gave her an IV, to get something in her system, but she'll be able to be discharged in another hour or so."

"Thank you," Hodgins said, placing a steadying hand on Angela's back as they both stood. "Can we see her?"

"Sure, you can go on in."

Hodgins rubbed her back. "You gonna be okay?"

Angela nodded, biting her lip. Lacing her fingers with Jack's, they walked together into Brenan's tiny 'room', blocked only by a curtain.

As soon as Brennan looked up and met her eyes, Angela burst into tears.

"Ange…" Brennan started, her voice low.

"No," Angela sobbed. "No, don't talk to me. Not now, I, I can't…"

"Angie." Hodgins made a move to hug her, but she shook him off.

"Don't. This isn't about me, it's about her…" She turned back to her best friend, who looked startlingly young, and Angela remembered the first time she'd been in a hospital room with Brennan. The memory suddenly made her feel very, very tired. "My God, Bren, I have spent half my damn life worrying about you, you _don't_ have to add to it."

Jack saw something flash across Brennan's feature, too brief for him to determine what, exactly, it was. Hurt? Guilt? Gratitude?

After it passed, Brennan said, blunt as ever, "I wasn't trying to kill myself, Angela. If that's what you're thinking."

Still crying hard, Angela protested, "You still had the knife in your other hand. I saw. And you didn't strap your helmet earlier today."

Suddenly, Brennan sounded like her old self; logical to a fault. "Ange, if I'd wanted to kill myself, I would have succeeded. The coratid artery would be much quicker. But if I insisted on doing the wrist, a vertical cut would be more efficient."

Angela was somewhat thrown by this analysis, and Hodgins put in, "It's true, Angie. She would know."

Her sobs finally subsiding, Angela asked, "So what was it, then?"

Brennan's eyes flitted away. "An accident."

Angela sat down on the edge of the tiny cot-like bed. "You don't have accidents like that. Or like earlier, on the mountain."

Brennan swallowed hard; her fingers picked at a loose thread on the sheet beneath her. "It was just…it was something that made sense, Ange. It hurt and…I understood why." Brennan grimaced. She sounded like a fool.

A fresh wave of tears welled in Angela's dark eyes. Hodgins gestured at her that he would wait outside, give them some privacy, and then Angela asked her, "So you don't want to die?" Brennan was quiet for long enough for Angela to fill sick with fear. "Bren?"

"I…I don't know." Angela made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan, but Brennan pressed on, "Is it wanting to die if I wish she'd killed me instead of Booth? Or that I hadn't shot her, so she could finish the job?" Brennan paused, sucking in a rattling breath, then added a newer thought, "Or even think that I'm fairly certain I can't _do_ this for much longer?"

~(B*B)~

When they got back to the cabin yet again, Angela announced firmly that she was staying up all night with Brennan, whether she liked it or not.

As soon as they got to the house, Jack retreated to the basement, leaving the women alone. The shared history of the two friends, the history even Hodgins barely knew anything about, was hanging heavily between them, had been ever since Angela's comment on having worried about Brennan half her life.

Brennan moved away from Angela, going to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water like nothing significant was happening, like there weren't drops of blood on the white tile, or a pot of half cooked pasta forgotten on the stove.

The air was thick, not with tension, but just pure emotion, something too heavy to be put into words just yet. They let the silence settle, avoiding each other's gaze for about ten minutes, when Brennan finally looked at her best friend and nodded her head awkwardly in the direction of the back door, an invitation.

Nodding, Angela got to her feet and silently followed her outside, where they walked, barefoot, down the sloped grassy backyard until they got to the more sandy area and the pier. Brennan settled herself on the edge, feet touching the water, and Angela sat down next to her.

They were quiet for a moment, then Brennan prompted, tentative and nervous, "You said…at the hospital…you said you wanted to talk more." A pause. Angela didn't pick up the cue, so Brennan reminded her, "You said _this isn't over_." She stared out at the water, at the distorted reflection of the moon and stars on the surface, waiting for her friend to take the hint and begin.

After another beat of silence, Brennan swiveled sideways, and was a little taken aback by the shimmers of tears, slowly and steadily working their way down Angela's cheeks. The back of her hand was pressed the her mouth, to muffle sobs that hadn't begun yet.

"Ange…" Brennan said the word in the same voice people had used with her ever since It Happened; low and turning down at the end.

Somehow, this seemed to break Angela's control; she began to cry openly, her body shuddering with sobs. Just like that, they reverted to their old roles, the ones where _Angela _was the one with her emotions just below the surface.

Brushing off her own feelings of awkwardness, Brennan wrapped her arms around Angela, who immediately leaned into the hug, pressing her face against Brennan's shoulder as she continued to cry uncontrollably.

Brennan wasn't sure exactly how to handle this; comfort had never been her strong suit. She automatically asked herself what Booth would do in this situation.

Going off this question, she extracted one of her hands and began to stroke Angela's hair in what she hoped was a soothing manner. "It's alright," she murmured. "It's gonna be okay."

After a few more moments of this, Angela drew back. "You are scaring the hell out of me, you know that? I don't want to _lose_ you, Brennan, okay? I _can't_."

Tears filled Brennan's eyes, but for once she was able to force them not to fall. It would have been so easy to tell Angela what she needed to hear, to say _You won't, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, _but something wouldn't let her say the words.

"I'm sorry," slipped out instead.

"Don't _apologize_, Sweetie. Just…just pl-please tell me what to do. There has to be something, and I'm really trying, but I'm not used to seeing you like this-"

"I'm not used to _being_ like this," Brennan interrupted, a catch in her voice.

"I know. I do know that. But…do you remember Darren Howe?"

Brennan's eyes flashed, then hardened. "Of course."

"Do you remember what you said to me? After?"

Brennan hesitated, "I'm sure I said a lot of things."

"I mean right after." Brennan kept her face blank, forcing Angela to clarify. "I thanked you for saving me. And you said I saved you, and you were glad to return the favor."

Brennan pressed her lips together, staring at the water again. "I remember."

"Well, it's _my_ turn. I want to save you from this, but…it's not something so simple as calling the cops or attacking someone trying to hurt you. So I really wish you could tell me what you need me to do. Even though I know that no matter how good of a friend I am, it's not going to make you miss Booth any less."

A rogue tear managed to drip from Brennan's eyelash, betraying her as it streaked down her cheek. She didn't know what to say; there really _wasn't_ anything Angela, or anyone else, could do; as long as Booth was dead, this was her reality, and there was no reversing that one.

Still, she hated that she was hurting her best friend.

After a long pause, Brennan broke the silence. "You didn't get that exactly right, you know."

Angela sniffled. "What?"

"What I said to you. I said you saved me _twice_. And the first time wasn't anything simple and concrete. It was just…you. Being my friend and reminding me someone cared when no one else did." Between them on the dock, Brennan covered Angela's hand with her own briefly. "I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you, Ange. I mean it. You've been amazing."

Angela swiped at her eyes. "Thanks."

They are quiet for awhile, then Brennan said quietly, "You and Booth are the only two people who have done that."

"Done what?"

"Saved me. He was like you, too..he did it in different ways. The obvious stuff, with Kenton and the Gravedigger." She paused, letting the unspoken part, the unmentioned Pam Nunan and the fatal gunshot, hang between them. "But apart from all that. He just…it's hard to explain."

"He opened you up. He took you out of the lab, into the world, and he showed you that it was okay to participate, to enjoy life. He gave you a reason to smile, to laugh, to be passionate about something other than bones, even if it was just a stupid argument with him over pie. And he did something I'd barely been able to begin doing…he started to crack through those walls you've built around yourself – metaphorical walls, Sweetie- and he forced himself in. You let him really, honestly get to know you, and you trusted him with that. And he made you start to believe in things like faith and love."

"Love…." Brennan said the word slowly, like she was trying out the sound of it. "You said that before. I never even said it was true."

"Sweetie, the fact that you didn't fly into an outrage and deny it says it all. Although it _probably _wouldn't kill you to say it out loud yourself."

For a solid minute, the only sound was the chirping of crickets and whatever other bugs or animals made noise near lakes. Then, Brennan whispered, so quiet it was barely a breath, "I love him." She had very nearly said 'loved', but realized that was erroneous. Booth was gone, not her, and definitely not whatever it was she felt. "I need to make that stop."

Switching back to being the comforting one, Angela squeezed her shoulder. "You don't really have any control over that."

Brennan nodded; she was definitely learning that the hard way.

They sat together in silence for awhile, looking at the stars and out over the water. Brennan caught Angela glancing at her several times, the naked fear on her face making a guilty knot form in Brennan's stomach.

She stood up suddenly, pulling Angela with to her feet along with her. Then, Brennan made herself smile, a real smile. In one fluid motion she pulled off her shirt, tossed it aside as she had the previous night, and dove into the water.

She didn't waste time in resurfacing this time, her head popping out the water as she faced Angela.

"That can't be good for your back. And aren't you supposed to keep your stitches dry?"

Whoops. That hadn't even occurred to Brennan. "They're heavily bandaged, and my back is fine. Now are you coming or not?"

Hesitating briefly, Angela followed suit and was soon submerged underwater. She surfaced, gasping, seconds later. "You didn't mention it was so cold!"

"I think it feels good. It's invigorating."Brennan ducked under again, this time repeating what she'd done the other night, staying underwater, at the bottom of the lake, as long as she possibly could before emerging and allowing herself the deep, cleansing breaths.

When she had caught her breath, she noticed Angela, treading water a few feet away, staring at her, wide-eyed, her face pale in the moonlight. "What?"

"Don't do that again." Angela said fiercely.

"Do wha-…oh." She got it, belatedly. Apparently she'd done too good of a job at staying under as long as possible. "I'm sorry."

Angela didn't reply, and for a moment they both hovered, treading water quietly, any bit of frivolity Brennan had been struggling to manufacture effectively gone.

Angela wasn't looking at Brennan when she broke the silence. "Jack said we should probably head home in the morning."

Brennan didn't point out that it was two days earlier than planned. "Yeah, probably." She paused, but Angela didn't elaborate on the reason. Both of them knew. "Don't tell Cam or anyone about-"

"I won't," she said instantly.

"I'm sorry about all this, Ange. I know you planned this trip for me, and-"

"Yeah, well. It's not your fault you got hurt climbing-"

"Technically, rappelling."

"-_rappelling _then. Of course, it _was_ your fault you didn't strap your helmet even when I told you to. It's maybe even your fault you let go of the rope when you cut your shoulder."

"Angela…"

Her tone frustrated now, Angela cut Brennan off. "No, I'm serious, Brennan. Is this what things are going to be like now? Waiting while you tempt fate so that you can _maybe_, _possibly _die?!" Brennan opened her mouth, but Angela didn't give her a chance to finish. "I _know_ you aren't going to stab your coratid artery or put a gun in your mouth or swallow a bottle of pills. What I don't know is that you aren't going to start driving too fast without a seatbelt on, or start walking through a bad neighborhood without your giant gun, or, or, I don't know, stand outside in the middle of an electrical storm. Are you just going to keep putting yourself in danger until fate takes care of it?"

Brennan stared at her, unable to come up with a response. Until Angela spelled it out, she hadn't really understood why she made the choice not to strap her helmet, or why she had been so reckless out on the mountain yesterday. Because it was true.

She would _not _commit suicide. She wanted to be remembered for the work she'd done in her field, not for succumbing to some romantic, idiotic notion like some tragic character in a gothic novel.

But when you put yourself in dangerous situations, you had to actively _try_ to live. You had to make an effort.

And that wasn't something she was particularly interested in anymore.

Instead of telling Angela that she was right, and that yes, maybe that was what life would be like, Brennan just said, "There is no such thing as fate."

For a brief second, Angela looked like she wanted to hit her, so much so that Brennan actually swam backwards a few inches. Then, closing her eyes with defeat, Angela said, "And apparently, there's no such thing as you giving a direct answer to a question."

Without another word, Angela turned, swimming back toward the pier, where she pulled herself up. Brennan expected her to head back to the house, but instead, she pulled her shirt back on and sat down on the dock.

"Ange, you really don't have to stay awake all night with me. You've gotta be exhausted."

"I'll sleep in the car in the morning," Angela replied in a clipped tone. "Wouldn't want you swimming circles in the middle of the lake to make exhaustion set in."

Brennan didn't answer, but after a moment began to swim toward the pier. Moments later, she dropped next to Angela, who didn't look at her.

"I'm just really, really tired, Ange."

"Well _you_ don't have a choice about sleeping."

Brennan glanced at her. "That's not what I meant."

Shoulders slumping, Angela sighed. "Yeah, I know." She turned to Brennan, her features softening. "You know, if he knew about today, at the mountain…Booth would've been so pissed at you."

Brennan turned, angry that Angela would use that on her, and was surprised to find her friend smiling softly.

Continuing, Angela said, "I mean, he didn't even let you _drive_."

"Or have a gun," Brennan added.

"Exactly. Rappelling down a mountain without a strapped helmet? Booth would've gone crazy."

"Rappelling down a mountain _at all_." She began to smile, just a little. "Overprotective alpha male."

"He really was."

"And extremely hypocritical, too."

"Oh my God, totally," Angela rolled her eyes. "_He_ was a _Sniper_. _That's_ dangerous. _Plus_, we're talking about the guy who stood next to bodies with bombs on them, who broke out of the hospital to go running after a serial killer, who…"

"Who jumped up in front of a bullet?"

"Yeah." Angela's smile dropped, and she fell silent for a moment, mentally berating herself for even bringing Booth up. "It isn't always going to be this hard."

Brennan was quiet for a moment, then agreed, "I know." But she was beginning to wonder if, finally, she had truly reached a breaking point, and discovered a loss she couldn't come back from.

_Sooooo….yeah. It's dark. A bit OOC, I know, but there's also a sort of morbid rationality to it that fits Brennan, at least a Brennan that's beginning to unravel. If this kind of stuff isn't really your thing, I totally get it, but I hope you keep reading. There is (metaphorical) light at the end of the (metaphorical) tunnel._


	5. Falling Awake

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone for the great response! I'm so relieved that you're enjoying this, and finding it believable. I just got back from camp a few horus ago, and I'm exhausted, so no work on Shattered quite yet, but I'm posting this one before I fall into bed. It's a little shorter, and a bit of a transitional, filler-esque chapter, but I think you'll like it. More Booth this time around, actually. This story just kind of told itself, so sometimes the POV breaking up isn't even. Without further ado, enjoy! Reviews are love. I love hearing what you're thinking._

**Chapter Five**

_Falling Awake_

_One foot in the grave  
One foot in the shower  
There's never time to save  
You're paying by the hour_

And that's just the way it goes  
Falling awake  
And that's just the way it goes

~Gary Jules, "Falling Awake"

Booth's eyes snapped open, darting wildly around. He was soaked in cold sweat, shaking, and his heart pounded erratically in his chest.

For a few strangely blank seconds, Booth couldn't place where he was or why he had woken up. Then the dream came back to him.

He'd been in the Hoover Building, looking through the two way mirror that looked into the interrogation room. Except, instead he was seeing the platform at the Jeffersonian lab.

Bones was the only one in the lab, standing over a table with a body on it. He couldn't see the body clearly, but enough to see that it wasn't just bones, and didn't seem at all disfigured like the usual carnage she worked with.

And she was crying.

He could see and hear her clearly; crystalline tears coursing down her face, sobs deep and plaintive . She was crying in a way he'd never seen in real life.

Booth had shouted for her as loud as he could, pounding on the glass. Then he'd run to the door of the room, intending to leave, go to where she was, to pull her into his arms and tell him what was wrong; anything to make her stop. But the door in the tiny observation room was locked.

"Bones! _BONES_!" He screamed until his throat was raw, pressing every button he could find for some sort of microphone, but nothing got through.

Still sobbing, Bones had walked away from the table, off the platform, fading fromview. Just like that, the glass disappeared, and Booth had walked right up to the table she'd been standing over.

Where his own body was lying.

That's when he woke up.

Booth stumbled out of the small bedroom and into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, soaking away the sweat. His pulse was still racing.

He didn't know what image was worse: his body lying on the table, or Bones crying like that. Booth thought for a moment and decided it was the latter, definitely.

Booth stared blearily into the mirror. His hair was standing on end, his eyes were wild.

Damn it, he was sick of this. He wanted to go back. He wanted to see Bones. He wanted to be _actively_ solving cases, _with her_. He wanted to bicker in the car. He wanted them to go the diner after work and stay until closing, just talking.

Clenching his jaw, Booth padded back to the bedroom he was staying in, angry at Cullen, for forcing him to this, angry at all the other Agents because they weren't forbidden to leave or contact anyone on their own free will.

~(B*B)~

The next morning, he called Cullen on the direct line.

"Cullen."

"It's Booth. And no, nothing's happened. We have to talk."

Booth could hear the barely contained impatience in his voice when Cullen answered, "Listen, Booth. I'm not your damn cruise director, alright? You aren't on a vacation. I'm sorry if you're bored, or if you miss your partner, or whatever the hell the problem is now, but there isn't much I can do about it."

"With all due respect, sir, that's incorrect. You can call this off; I'm done."

There was silence on the line for a beat, then Cullen said, his tone dangerously low, "You don't get to decide that, _Agent_. _I_ do. We are too deep in this-"

"I'm the one with people back home who think I'm dead, Cullen. I'm the one who hasn't left this property in nearly a month. You lied to me, sir. You made it sound like this would be a quick job. Like he'd find out I was dead, come out of hiding, and we'd get him. But it's dragged on. And it's not even winding down."

"I have no way of predicting the moves of a criminal, Booth. I never gave you a time frame on this one. I never made any promises. If you abandon this now, we won't catch him."

"Then maybe we don't catch him."

"He killed ten people, Booth. Think about them, about their families. You worked those cases six years ago, you know how many lives he destroyed. That's not even including the assault and robberies he got up to with that fucking 'team' of his."

Booth paused, then said quietly, "Some things are more important. I _need_ a time frame. You can't expect me to stay here, cut off from the world, indefinitely, Cullen."

"That's Cullen?" A voice from behind him asked.

"Hold on a second, sir…" Booth said into the phone, suddenly facing five other Agents, three of whom were staying in the house. "Yeah, it's Cullen."

Andrew Latham edge forward, holding out his hand for the phone.

"I'm not quite done with him, actually."

Tension all over his face, Latham snapped, "Damn it, Booth, give me the phone. Something's happened."

Bewildered, Booth handed the phone over, then turned to the others. "What happened?"

Patrick Reddick, one of Booth's better friends from the Bureua, answered him quietly, "There was some sort of incident last night with Reynolds' old crime team. We don't know the details yet; it was a shootout. Three dead…including Mitch."

"_What_?" Booth's mind began working furiously. Mitchell Gray was the undercover agent they'd had working with Reynolds old crime team…the crime team everyone was expecting him to rejoin soon.

"Yeah, local police found the bodies this morning."

"But…but…now we have nobody on the inside! We won't know when Reynolds is moving!"

Ken Brown snorted derisively. "And so ends the mourning period…"

Booth rubbed his face with his hands. "Look, I…I'm sorry that happened. But…" He trailed off, not sure of a tactful way to express his concerns.

Patrick spoke up, "He's right, though. It took months to get Mitch in, we're not going to be able to infiltrate them again. We can keep a tail on them, but we're going to be much more out of the loop."

Booth started to agree, but then he noticed Andrew hanging up the phone and took a step closer. "I wasn't finished."

"Cullen said to tell you two weeks," Andrew said shortly, barely looking at Booth before turning to face the other agents gathered, starting to speak.

"_Two weeks_?!" Booth exploded, causing every head to swivel immediately in his direction.

Maybe that would have been acceptable five minutes ago. But now, as their objective had just gotten significantly more difficult, Booth was ready to demand that Cullen grant his original request and call the whole thing off, or at least Booth's role in it.

"Two weeks isn't good enough!"

Andrew held up his hands. "Don't yell at me, Booth. I don't even know what he meant."

"Then I'll just have to call Cullen back," Booth was shaking with barely suppressed rage. He was being used, and it had been a _month_. He had been lied to, and now he was being taken advantage of.

"Believe me, you don't want to do that now. He's in a foul mood; besides, one of his men just _died_, Booth. Whatever the hell it is you're complaining about, it's going to sound petty."

Booth's fists clenched by his side. _Petty_? This was his life they were all talking about. The life he'd been literally removed from for a month.

Oblivious to the effect of his uninformed remark, Andrew addressed the room. "Come on, guys, meeting in the dining room…we need to reassess."

Everyone but Booth began to shuffle solemnly out of the kitchen. Andrew turned to look at him. "You coming, Booth?"

He was nonresponsive long enough for everyone to turn around to look at him.

"No…no I'm not." He turned, taking the other way out of the room, heading for the front door. "_Fuck_ this. Fuck Reynolds, and fuck Cullen…_fuck_ it all."

~(B*B)~

Angela fell asleep the second the mountain house disappeared from view, her head nestled on a pillow that was propped against the car window.

True to her word, she had stayed up the entire night with Brennan. After the tension had finally dissipated, the night had bore a lot of similarities to the day they'd had following the funeral: lots of rehashing of Booth centered memories. Except this time, Angela had jumped in to add her own memories, or ask prompting questions, whenever Brennan fell silent.

Hodgins turned the car radio on, leaving the volume low, even though he was pretty sure Angela was tired enough to sleep through any level of noise. He glanced at the rearview mirror; Brennan was sitting in the backseat, her elbow against the door, chin propped in her palm, staring out the window as though her mind was a thousand miles away. She wasn't showing any sign of trying to fall asleep.

He was silent for the first half hour of the drive, in case Brennan changed her mind on that last point, but when he glanced again to find her still wide awake, Hodgins said conversationally, "I don't see how you aren't dead to the world back there, Dr. B."

"Hmm?" Brennan's eyes snapped forward, startled out of her reverie as his words registered. "I don't know what that means."

Jack grinned. "I don't see why you aren't asleep. Like Angela."

"Oh. Well. I've never required much sleep. Especially lately."

Jack's smile faded as a pang of empathy hit him. He was really starting to question the whole concept of dying for someone you love. Everyone said it was heroic and selfless, but after watching Brennan the past few weeks, he wasn't so sure.

After all, if someone said they would die for someone, wasn't part of that because they would rather die themselves than have to live without the other? Sure, that motive was without a doubt indicative of love, but it meant automatically leaving the other person in the very position you couldn't bear to be in.

Brennan interrupted his thoughts, her tone contrite, something Jack was pretty sure he'd never heard from his boss. "I'm sorry about this trip. I realize it wasn't much a vacation, even before we cut it short."

"Hey, no, don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're okay." He cringed instantly at the gross inaccuracy of that statement. "I, I meant okay from the fall and everything."

"I know."

Hodgins fell silent again, fumbling with the radio station. Then, he said awkwardly, "I figure…we told Cam we'd be gone all week, so we can just say you fell rappelling, and that'll be enough reason. Y'know, if she even asks…" His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Brennan's eyes, wide with fear, in the mirror. "Just the fall, though. Nothing else. Promise."

Shooting him a small, grateful smile, Brennan murmured, "Thanks."

Another pause, and then Hodgins, glancing at Angela, ventured, "She's worried about you, you know. A lot."

"I know. I hate that. I wish she wasn't."

Jack let his eyes move from the road and linger on his sleeping fiancée. "She's like that, though. Especially with you…she's your best friend, and she loves you."

"I don't make it easy," Brennan murmured, more to herself than to Hodgins. Before he could respond, she quickly added, "We talked about it last night. Maybe it helped."

"I'm sure it did."

Brennan fell silent again, and Hodgins was left arguing with himself, trying to decide whether to say something more obviously helpful and sympathetic, uncharted territory for him where his boss was concerned. Still, he considered her a good friend, and he, too, was genuinely concerned about her.

Finally, Hodgins heaved a sigh. "Listen, Dr.B, I know Ange is your best friend. But I also know she can be a little dramatic and emotional." He and Brennan both smiled fondly, but his was short lived. "So, you know…if you ever want to talk, I _am_ here. I know we don't really , ah, _do_ that-"

"Unless we're trapped underground in a car, you mean?"

He smiled a little. "Yeah, except for then. I'm serious though, Brennan. Anytime."

"Thanks, Jack. Really."

~(B*B)~

Booth sat on the porch of the safehouse, brooding. In the first moments after Cullen's phone call, his fury had been potent enough that, if he'd had his own car there, he'd have driven straight to DC, and to hell with all of them.

But he didn't have his own car, having been barely released from the hospital when they'd arrived at the safehouse, and an hour had passed since he'd stormed out. He was still angry and frustrated, but also more than a little embarrassed and guilty over his outburst.

The door opened and closed behind him, and after a moment Patrick sat down next to him. "So you didn't abandon us," the other man commented lightly.

Booth exhales slowly. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I was acting like a jackass, I'm just…sick of this."

"Hey, man, I don't blame you. You haven't left the property in almost a month? I'd already be insane, no question. And I don't even have a kid back home."

"Cullen's pissing me off. You got to hand it to the guy though; I get shot, and a few hours later he's come up with a way to use it to our advantage."

Patrick frowned. "How'd all that go down, anyway? The shooting, I mean. You weren't in the field, right?"

Booth smiled humorlessly. "Nope. We were at that karaoke bar, the Checker Box. We'd just closed a case, and I was there with the rest of my team."

"The squints?" Some of the guys at the Bureau gave him a hard time about being partnered with a squint, as well as working so closely with others. Patrick's voice held no trace of mirth, though.

"Yeah."

"Do you guys always hang out at _karaoke bars_ after cases?"

Booth rolled his eyes. "God, no. The case, the vic was a singer. Well, he wanted to be. We ended up at the place a few times to question people. And Bones…that's Dr. Brennan-"

Patrick grinned. "I figured."

"Bones and Sweets had been talking about singers, and Bones said something about how her mother used to tell her she sang better than Cyndi Lauper."

Patrick shook his head mournfully. "Yeah, my dad used to say I pitched better than Pete Rose. Nasty shock when high school baseball started…"

"I bet. Well, of course, Bones insisted that her mom hadn't been anything but completely objective. So I got everyone to the karaoke place, and told her to meet me there without telling her why. I'd already had the piano guy set up to play it for her."

"Nice."

"And she actually agreed." Booth smiled softly, his eyes far away. "And she was _good_. Awesome."

Patrick was quiet for a second, letting Booth have his moment, then he prompted, "So what happened?"

The smiled dropped. "There was this woman. Pam. She had been a suspect in the case, because she was basically stalking the victim. Delusional…she thought they were engaged. After one interrogation, she somehow…got it in her head that _I_ was the one for her. Transfer of affection, I think Sweets called it. She was acting really inappropriate, but I didn't do much about it. She showed up at the place, when Bones was singing. I didn't even notice at first."

His stomach clenched reflexively. He had put Bones in that position. He hadn't taken Pam seriously, hadn't seen it as a real problem, just an inappropriate irritation. He hadn't discouraged her enough.

"Then she yelled my name so I would look and…and she pointed the gun at Bones. It was like she didn't like me looking at her while she sang, or maybe because we were partners. I don't know. And then she…she shot at her."

"At Dr. Brennan?"

"Yeah."

"And you…you stepped in front of her."

Booth looked at him. "Of course." Patrick's eyebrows were raised. "She's my partner."

"Okay, man. I get it." They fell silent, and then Patrick slyly said, "It must be hard not seeing her for so long."

Booth took his time answering, trying to hear the suggestive or teasing note in Patrick's voice. Discerning nothing, he admitted, "Yeah. Very." Sighing, he added, "But she knows. She was on my list."

"Well, that's good."

"I guess." He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "Two weeks."

~(B*B)~

It was still fairly early when they got back into DC. Hodgins started to head toward Brennan's part of town, when he remembered that she'd been staying at Booths place.

"Uh, Dr.B?" She looked up from the backseat, where she was still very much awake. "Where am I, um, taking you?"

"Oh, ah…to the lab?"

He laughed; Jack couldn't help it. "You haven't slept in over twenty-four hours. Is this your way of guilting us into work, too?"

He was joking, but Brennan was quick to respond, "No, of course not. Angela should sleep, and you have another two days off. I just…I need to _do_ something."

"Want me to go, too? I can drop Angie off first."

Brennan began shaking her head. "No, that won't be necessary. I can just work on some Limbo cases, or see if Cam and Zack need any help with anything."

"Alright," he said, heading the short distance to the Jeffersonian. "But if you get in there and need a bug and slime expert…feel free to call me."

"I will."

Ten minutes, her bag slung over her shoulder, Brennan was walking toward the forensics platform.

"Dr. Brennan," Cam said, her brow furrowing with confusion. "I thought you were in West Virginia for a few more days."

"We, uh, cut it short."

Cam and Zack were both staring at her now, questions still all over their faces. She was going to have to give more of an explanation.

"We went rappelling yesterday morning, and I fell. Concussion, and stitches in…in a couple places. There wasn't much to do at the cabin after that, so…" She shrugged.

Zack nodded instantly. "Well, I'm glad you're alright, Dr. Brennan. We haven't had any murders, so I've been working through some of the Limbo cases…"

Cam, though, didn't look quite as satisfied with the answer. She was staring at Brennan with that sort of sympathetic look she'd been using.

Nervously filling the silence, Brennan added, "Hodgins and Angela went home to unpack…and to sleep. Hodgins said he could come in if necessary."

Cam waved it off. "No, it's fine. In fact, you should go, too, Brennan. It's not a problem, and if you were injured enough to come home early you could probably benefit from some rest-"

"No," Brennan answered too quickly. She flushed slightly. "I mean, I…I just really need something to do. Please."

Something in Cam's chest tightened and she almost had to look away. She had never known Temperance Brennan to use that word before. But she had changed. And while there was a time almost two years ago when Cam would have welcomed that with open arms, that was no longer the case. The cool, collected anthropologist was broken, falling to pieces in front of them all, bit by bit, and it was devastating to watch.

"Alright," Cam said gently. "Whatever you need."

Brennan rapidly turned away; even she could distinguish the pity in Cam's voice. She glanced down the bandage on her wrist, covering the stitches. She was so weak now, and she hated it.

She thought about what Angela had said last night, about whether her life was going to consist of her putting herself in dangerous situations, 'tempting fate' as she'd put it.

Her life was much less dangerous now that she was working exclusively in the lab again. It felt wrong, somehow, to even contemplate working with another agent.

One who wouldn't be nearly as protective of her as Booth was.

"Cam?"

Cam stopped walking and turned around. "Yes?"

"I…" _Say it. _"I was considering maybe…returning to field duty. "


	6. Rain

_Pretty quick update for you guys since the last one was somewhat filler-ish. Here, the angst returns. Hope you enjoy. I love your reviews!! _

_Oh, and I've mentioned this song before, but I just adore it. "Rain" by Patty Griffin. Gorgeous and heart-wrenching. I recommend giving it a listen at some point throughout the Brennan centric parts of this chapter…makes a great soundtrack._

**Chapter Six**

_Rain_

_It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart  
Beating close to mine  
Pounding up against the__stone__ and steel  
Walls that I won't climb  
Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep  
You think that you're gonna drown  
Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep  
With all this rain __falling down_

_Strange how hard it rains now  
Rows and rows of big dark clouds  
When I'm holding on underneath this shroud  
Rain_

Angela woke up as they were pulling away from the Jeffersonian.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Hodgins said teasingly. "You missed the road trip."

Sitting up, and staring blearily out the window, Angela asked, "We're home?"

"Almost."

She twisted, staring at the backseat. "Where's Bren?"

"Dropped her off at the lab. She didn't even sleep. It's kind of impressive."

Angela didn't reply to that. She flipped the mirror in front of her open, pulling her mussed hair into a ponytail. "Can you take me to the Hoover?"

Hodgins stared at her, flummoxed. "_Why_?"

"Jack, just…don't ask, alright? Not yet. Please."

Her tone and expression were so serious that Hodgins didn't even considering arguing. "Okay, Angie."

~(B*B)~

It was surprising how glad he was to see her.

"Angela! Hey! What brings you here? You got a sec to chat?"

She forced a smile, moving into the office. "Hey, Sweets. How are things?"

He hadn't really seen much of the team since Booth's funeral. After all, he was an FBI psychologist and profiler, firmly on the investigative side of things. And since Booth's death, they had had minimal contact with the FBI. They sent their reports to an FBI agent; there was none of the symbiotic, interactive relationship that had begun three years ago when Brennan had insisted on full participation, and Booth had extended a pop culture olive branch Brennan hadn't understood.

He shrugged. "Alright. A little dull, honestly. How's Dr. Brennan?"

Relieved that he'd given her an opening, Angela settled herself down on the couch. "That's actually what I came to talk about…I'm really worried about her."

Sweets sighed, leaning forward. He had his 'lecturing shrink' tone going when he began to talk, but Angela could also read the genuine concern in his features. "I know. Even if she was never willing to acknowledge it, she cared a great deal about Agent Booth, and had grown to depend on him. Take that and add it to her own abandonment issues and the guilt over the fact that he died in her place…there's no way she _couldn't_ fall apart over everything. But, of course, grief is a process. It takes time, some people more than others. But it's completely natural."

Angela started shaking her head. "No. I mean, yes, you're right about all that, but that's not what I…it's not just the grieving." She drew in a cleansing breath. "Believe me, I've known Bren for sixteen years. I've _worried_ about Bren for sixteen years, no exaggerating. But I've never had to go to a shrink. That means something, alright?"

Sweets nodded a little, scrutinizing her. Angela shifted slightly, uncomfortable; it's not like _she's_ the patient. "Okay. So what's going on?"

Sighing, Angela hesitated, torn between getting help and protecting her best friend's secrets. She spoke carefully, "We…me and Brennan and Hodgins, we went to his cabin in the mountains on Tuesday. I thought…" Her voice faltered. "I thought it might be good for her. We just got back a few minutes ago. Yesterday…we were rappelling and rock climbing. Jack and Bren, they're really into that stuff. Bren's climbed all over the place, she knows what she's doing.

"But she fell. I-I don't know exactly what happened, but she said she scraped her shoulder on a rock and grabbed at it, or something and she…she let go of the rope. And she landed on a ledge." Sweets' eyes went wide, a question in them. "She's okay, just some bruising and stitches and a concussion. Amazingly. But…she didn't have her helmet strapped. And I pointed it out to her at the top, and she thanked me, even, but she never…" Angela pressed her lips together. "She never did it."

Angela pictured the scene in the kitchen, the one she was pretty sure was going to be in her head for a good long time; Brennan with a knife in one hand, blood on the other, just _collapsing_…

She shuddered. She had promised not to tell anyone that. And Brennan and even Hodgins insisted it hadn't been a legitimate attempt at anything. So she skipped it.

"And I asked her if…I asked her if she wanted to die, and she didn't give me a straight answer. She said she wished that woman had killed her instead, or even that she hadn't shot the woman, let her shoot again. She…she said she couldn't do this for much longer. She said she's really tired." The tears were back, coming fast. Sweets wordlessly handed her a box of tissues that she supposed every psychologist had to keep in their office. "And she's been living in Booth's apartment. Surrounded by photos, like she's afraid to forget what he looks like. I found her sitting in the floor one morning, completely torn up because his pillow smelled more like her now."

Somewhere during this last bit, Sweets had lost the objective shrink demeanor. His eyes were practically popping out of his skull. "_What_?"

"I know. You should see her, Sweets, she's…completely different. Well, you did see at the funeral. It was like that was the breaking point. Yeah, she broke down the first day, but then she did what everyone expected…put on a brave face and tried to pretend she was fine. Now, though, she doesn't even bother. She dissolved into tears in the middle of the lab because she realized he'd never call her 'Bones' again. And earlier this week, before we left, she went to update her will…"

"Oh my God…"

"Exactly. Sweets, she needs help."

He was shaking his head. "Angela, I…I could barely get Dr. Brennan to come to sessions when it was required. She doesn't technically work for the Bureau, and she isn't partnered with anyone who does, so I can't make it mandatory again. And the way she feels about psychology, she won't agree to come in on her own."

"I-I know. I can try to suggest it, but I know you're right. I guess I was just hoping you could tell _me_ how to help her."

"Okay…" Sweets looked contemplative, and he took his time speaking. "If you think is really having…suicidal ideation-"

"I don't," Angela said quickly. "I mean, not really."

"You don't believe she would literally kill herself?" Angela shook her head. "I agree. Dr. Brennan has a reverence for life, as well as a well deserved amount of pride for the work she's done. I don't believe she'd undermine all she's worked for like that."

In spite of her own insistence, Angela felt immensely relieved to hear Sweets voice this. Until, that is, he continued.

"However…some other things worry me. Dr. Brennan doesn't believe in life after death, and she is logical to a fault. Therefore, if she _did_ decide she didn't want to live anymore, there wouldn't be much holding her back…no fear of eternal hellfire or anything like that. Her career puts her in such close proximity to death that she may have even developed an immunity to the usual fear associated with it. Of course, all of this wouldn't be a problem, except several of the things you pointed out are textbook indicators of a suicidal person. Reckless behavior, updating her will. The fact that she wouldn't give you a straight answer when asked…"

Angela caught her bottom lip between her teeth, fear gnawing at her chest. "B-but you said you didn't think she would…" Her voice trailed off, hating the phrase, unwilling to speak it aloud.

Sweets' frown deepened. "I-I don't. But that's conjecture, of course…you say she's changed, as anyone would following such a significant loss, and without a chance to speak with her and observe, I can't make a definitive statement. Still, I think you're looking for something a little less…deliberate."

"What do you mean?"

"The rappelling incident is a perfect example. Reckless behavior. Of course, that's not atypical of 's lifestyle. She's a risk taker; dangerous digs, dangerous job. Unwillingness to be relegated to the sidelines. But deliberate negligence? The conscious decision not to be safe in those risks…_that_'s the problem."

Angela nodded slightly; Sweets had been able to quickly discern what Angela herself had concluded after hours of ruminating last night. "So…so what do I _do_?" She asked again. She had asked Brennan that, too, and Jack. What she wanted was a neat, definitive answer, for Sweets to say, _Okay, do X and she will be alright_.

But nothing was that simple.

"For starters…keep an eye on her. Do whatever you can to make sure she isn't able to put herself in a dangerous situation. I know she's been staying in the lab, which is probably a good thing for now, in spite of the withdrawal it suggests. If she was out catching murderers without complete caution, we'd really have a problem. Anyway, just do whatever you can to keep her in safe situations. Other than that, just listen. Encourage her to talk, and be a good friend. It would be great if you could keep her busy outside of work, keep her engaged in life.

"And I really think I could help her…well, y'know, some therapy could. I'll try to speak to her, but I think maybe it would be better coming from you."

Angela was nodding, slightly overwhelmed. "Alright, I…I can try." She stood. "Thanks, Sweets."

"One more thing, Angela…this is just a suggestion, but…does Max know? About Booth, I mean?"

"Max? Oh. Wow, I didn't even think about him. No I don't think he does, he's been staying with Russ."

"Yeah, I thought so. It probably wouldn't hurt to call him…maybe tell him to come see her?"

"You think?" Angela was quiet, considering. "I know she was really happy he was acquitted, but…Bren doesn't have the easiest relationship with her father."

"I know," Sweets said seriously. "But that's why it might help."

"I'm not following."

"Her father abandoned her. Left her. And she just lost the one person she thought would always be there. She's thinking _everyone_ leaves her. Maybe it would do some good to remember that at least someone came back."

A small smile spread slow over Angela's face. "That's actually a good idea. "

He grinned. "Thanks."

~(B*B)~

Jack was waiting for her when she got back to the manor he called a house. Eyeing her, trying to gauge her mood, he was tentative asking, "Everything…go alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I just…I wasn't so sure about it myself. I went to talk to Sweets."

Understanding dawned in Jack's vivid blue eyes. "About Brennan?"

Angela nodded, "Yeah. It was actually helpful. Still scary though. I wonder if there's any chance I could convince her to make an appointment with him."

Hodgins let out a bark of laughter. "I'd say that's a pretty microscopic chance, Angie."

She sighed. "I know."

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "There is something good, though. Cam called me right away, thinks it's a good sign."

The possibility of good news lifting her spirits, Angela asked eagerly, "What is?"

"Brennan wants to get back into the field, with the FBI." Angela's face fell, the color draining and her eyes widening in a stricken expression. Hodgins stared at her, confused, "What? I think it's a good thing. Going back to normal, at least a little."

Sweets' voice echoed in her head. _I know she's been staying in the lab, which is probably a good thing for now, in spite of the withdrawal it suggests. If she was out catching murderers without complete caution, we'd really have a problem._

"Ange, what is it? Why is that bad?"

"She figured it out," Angela stated dazedly. "She figured that…that's the best way to put herself in danger. Shit…" She rubbed a shaking hand over her face, sighing. "I have to make some phone calls..."

~(B*B)~

Cam had practically forced her to leave the lab at seven, saying if she had a concussion she really should go get some rest. For once, Brennan hadn't argued.

She had fully been planning on heading straight to Booth's apartment to sleep. Still, five minutes after leaving the Jeffersonian, she found herself walking into the Royal Diner and taking her usual booth.

Almost instantaneously, one of their usual waitresses approached the table, practically beaming. "We thought you'd forgotten about us, dear! It's been so long. Where's your friend?" She smiled, teasingly.

Brennan's polite smile froze on her face for a long second. Then, she heard herself say, "He's on his way. Just dessert tonight, though. Cheesecake for me, please, and he'll have apple pie."

The waitress bustled off cheerfully, and Brennan bit the inside of her cheek, so hard she drew blood. She'd lied. Blatantly. Not that it mattered really, but Brennan didn't understand the purpose. It was completely irrational. She'd _ordered_ for him, for God's sake.

She shook her head slightly, thinking about what Cam had said earlier, after her request to resume field activities. The thought of being partnered with another agent made Brennan physically ill, not to mention guilty; it was like she was betraying Booth. But she'd made up her mind.

Cam had promised to call Agent Perotta, noting that Ken Roberson, the agent she'd physically assaulted in the middle of the lab, probably wouldn't be too willing to accept her help. Brennan was glad it would be a woman; no way would sexist protective tendencies be an issue.

If someone shot at her, it would hit. If someone kidnapped her to kill, they'd finish the job. If she wanted to get out of the SUV and chase after a suspect, she would.

The waitress returned, putting down two cups of coffee she didn't have to ask for next to the plates of desert.

Brennan stared across from her, at the empty seat, the waiting plate. That stupid damn pie he loved. She thought of what Parker had said, what they'd never get to do again, and for a frightening moment, Brennan thought she might actually _lose_ _it_, whatever that might entail, in the middle of the diner.

She shoved her cheesecake to the side and forcefully pulled the pie toward her. She never liked the stuff, and when they had nothing else to argue about, they'd argue about that.

She stabbed her fork angrily into the dessert, lifting the piece of pie to her mouth. It was soft and far too sweet, enough to turn her stomach. Her throat felt thick and swollen, and her eyes watered as she forced it down.

The exhaustion she'd managed to ward off swept over her suddenly. Shoving the plate away, Brennan threw money on the table, more than she needed, and glanced at the counter to make sure the waitress wasn't in sight.

Then she bolted.

Fifteen minutes later, Brennan walked down the hallway toward Booth's apartment, fumbling in her bag for her key.

"Hey, honey."

Brennan looked up, startled.

Her father was standing outside Booth's door.

~(B*B)~

"Sweets?"

Lance Sweets turned to see a very rare visitor; Deputy Director Cullen stood in the doorway of his office, looking pretty uncomfortable for someone of his status.

"Yes, sir?"

"I, uh…I noticed Angela Montenegro leaving your office earlier today."

"Yes, sir…"

Cullen's tensed up even more, if possible. Stammering, he managed to say, "I guess I just, ah, wanted to know…if things were…okay at the Jeffersonian."

"I…as far as I know, things are fine."

"Did she happen to mention…how, ah…how 's doing? Since Booth's, um, death, and all that?"

Sweetswas quiet for a moment, studying the older man carefully. Something was going on here. Whatever Cullen's motives were, it wasn't simple polite inquiry. He was hiding something.

"I can't really discuss what Angela told me, sir. Confidentiality."

"Right, of course," Cullen replied quickly. "Just…concerned." He grimaced. "I saw her at the funeral… Losing a partner…it's tough."

Sweets frowned. Yeah, there was _definitely _something weird about the way the man was talking. Rather than ask prying questions, though, he merely said, "That's true. And they were…very close."

"Oh, yes. _That_ I definitely know," Cullen put in; Sweets thought maybe that was the only thing he'd said so far that he seemed sure about.

~(B*B)~

Brennan stood stock still for a moment, completely taken aback by his presence.

Angela. She must have called him, as she'd be the only one to know to tell him to come to Booth's apartment rather than her own. Brennan felt an irrational flash of annoyance; maybe she didn't _want_ to see her father.

"Dad. What-"

He moved in to hug her in greeting, but Brennan drew back, her features schooled into an expression of confusion, as if she could think of no reason why her father might feel the need to visit.

Sighing, Max offered, "Your artist friend called me." Silence hung. "You going to ask the old man in?"

Brennan wordlessly opened her door, and Max followed her in as she kept her back toward him.

"Angela told me about Booth," he wasted no time in getting to the point; they were barely in the door. "I'm so, so sorry, baby."

Her back still to him, Brennan bit down on her lip hard, not sure why these simple words were enough to make her eyes well with tears.

She always said she didn't have many concrete memories of her childhood, and in a way it was true. There was rarely anything around to trigger those memories; even after her father returned, he did not look the same. His altered appearance, coupled with her new knowledge of what his life had _really_ been like, essentially gave the impression that he was a different man. Matt Brennan, science teacher and loving father, bore very little resemblance to Max Keenan, the charming criminal who'd abandoned his children.

Except for his voice. And now, it washed over her, warm and rich with concern and the kind of empathetic sorrow parents feel when watching their children in pain. Brennan felt herself regressing, as though she was suddenly eight years old and just beginning to revise the belief that her father could fix any problem that came her way.

Her throat was suddenly thick with tears, her chin trembling in an effort to keep the sobs building in her throat at bay.

She walked shakily to the kitchen, searching for the 'good bottle' of scotch she knew Booth kept there, a desperate attempt to make herself feel like an adult.

"Honey…" His voice was closer than before, indicating that he was following her.

"Do you want something to drink?," Her would-be casual tone was undermined by how strangled her voice sounded.

Max placed his hand on his daughter shoulder, feeling her trembling violently beneath his touch. "Tempe. Honey."

Her hands fumbled in a cabinet looking for glasses.

Her father caught her wrists, turning her toward him. "That's enough, Temperance," he said gently. "Come sit."

Max led her to the couch, and in spite of her earlier attempts to get away, Brennan followed him obediently, without complaint, closing her eyes in a last ditch attempt to will the tears away.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" He asked gently, using that voice again, the one from probably twenty years ago, when she would come barreling into the house, on the verge of tears but desperate not to show it, following any number of trivial childhood traumas.

The words piled up in her throat, and she opened her mouth to tell him, to tell him that the man who arrested him died to save her and now she wasn't sure if she could accept a world without him in it, but instead only one word tumbled out, broken and fragile like the little girl she was when she last used it, "Daddy…"

Without waiting for further invitation, Max pulled his daughter into a hug, rocking her back and forth as though she was still small enough to crawl into his lap and be wrapped in his arms, hidden from the world.

Hiding her face against her father's shoulder, Brennan regressed further, and soon she was bawling like she was about four years old. She could hear his voice, soothing her with low, murmured words.

Max's chest ached as he listened to his daughter cry. More than anything, he wanted to make this better for her. But he had learned long ago, as all parents do, that no matter how much you'd like to protect your children from everything, every broken heart and every disappointment, it was impossible.

And he was pretty sure there was no bigger hurt for Tempe than losing Booth.

Booth, who took better care of his daughter than Max had ever been able to, who would _never_ abandon her. Booth, who had showed up outside a prison trailer with a fully decorated Christmas tree, all for her. Booth, who had bared his heart on the stand at Max's own trial, proving he would do anything for his Tempe.

"I'm sorry, baby." he murmured. "I am so, so sorry."

Brennan drew back, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I…I'm not sure how to do this."

"Oh, honey, I know. When your mother died, I felt the same way. It's like losing a piece of yourself, and a big piece at that."

Sniffling, Brennan half-heartedly protested, "Booth and I weren't married."

"But you love him. And he loved you."

Brennan didn't protest; she wondered, though, why everyone else seemed to just _know_ that, even though she'd never gotten a chance to tell Booth himself.

"I wish I could tell you that it gets better, but…you never really recover, honey. You don't get that piece of yourself back."

Brennan's throat narrowed, and she looked at her father appraisingly. In general he always seemed so cheerful. Maybe he was just better at pretending than she was, but Brennan didn't feel like she'd ever be capable of that again, even if it _was_ fifteen years after Booth's death.

"I miss him," she admitted softly.

Max put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "I know you do, baby. Have you been out to see him?" At the incredulous look on her face, he clarified, "The cemetery?"

Brennan flushed. "I don't really do that."

"I visit your mother, when I can. It can be good for you…cathartic."

"I, I just…I don't believe there's anything left to hear me."

"But Booth did," Max pointed out gently.

Her eyes filled all over again, and Brennan thought of him, convincing her to go to her mother's grave. "Yeah, he did." She paused, now thinking of what she'd decided to do, earlier, with her request to Cam. "Maybe I'll do it."

~(B*B)~

Booth woke up from the nightmare again, except Bones had been in his own apartment instead of the lab. The rest of it was the same though; his ineffectual position from behind the two way mirror, Bones crying uncontrollably.

He didn't fall back to sleep after; instead, he walked into the living room and flopped onto the floor, working off adrenaline and frustration with several reps of sit-ups.

They were nowhere with the case. Since Mitch was dead, they had no insider information; his last report had said Reynolds arrival was 'imminent', but they had no way of knowing if it had actually occurred.

Booth had called Cullen again, after everything had calmed down, trying to talk him down from the two week time frame, but he'd been adamant.

At least there was an end in sight now; after resigning himself to the fact that Cullen wasn't changing his mind, Booth had made it clear that there was no going back. Even if they had a new lead by that time, Booth _was_ returning home to DC in two weeks.

Home. To Parker. To Bones.

~(B*B)~

Max had stayed in Booth's guest room, that was usually Parkers room, but in the morning Brennan had vehemently assured him he didn't need to feel obligated to stay any longer.

He had sensed the underlying message in that statement, and Max had left the next morning, making his daughter promise to call him anytime she needed.

Brennan got in her car, planning on going to work, but instead found herself heading to the cemetery, where she hadn't been since the funeral.

It was drizzling when she'd left her house, and raining pretty steadily by the time she pulled into the cemetery. Fitting. She was about to become a complete cliché, and the weather was helping her out.

She found his grave pretty quickly. Brennan stared down at the simple headstone, bearing only his name and the years marking his birth and death. Probably for the best, Brennan figured. There was no way to sum up what the world had lost with him in a brief epitaph.

The image of his coffin, disappearing into the ground, flashed in her mind, turning her stomach. Brennan shut her eyes, willing herself not to think of what she knew about decomposition, and what Booth's body would look like after only two weeks underground.

The bile rose in the back of her throat, bitter and acidic, and she swallowed thickly, eyes watering. She was here to talk, no matter how ridiculous it felt, if only because she knew Booth would appreciate it.

"Booth," she began, already struggling. "It's…it's me, Bones." Her eyes stung. Shit, was that all it took now? Around her, the rain was intensifying, soaking her. Like this whole situation wasn't trite enough, and it hadn't even occurred to her bring an umbrella.

"You can't hear me," she stupidly informed the stone. "But…I wish you could." She couldn't tell, really, if the tears had escaped, or if it was only rain. "I wish you were still here. I wish you hadn't been so stupid. Because you _were_. I wish you hadn't been so insistent on following your overprotective, alpha male instincts." She swallowed thickly, then continued. "And I wish I'd told you that…I…I love you."

Brennan choked on a sob. Her dad had been wrong. This wasn't cathartic; if anything, it was making her feel worse. Because she could pour her guts out all she wanted in front of this slab of rock, and it didn't change the fact that she'd never been that forthright to Booth. It just reinforced the fact that it was too late.

That constant pain in her chest, the raw, all consuming ache, seemed to worsen, so much so that she couldn't stand; Brennan crouched down, leaning on the balls of her feet, steadying herself with one hand against the gravestone. She pressed her lips together; she was done talking. She wanted _Booth_, more than anything, but he was gone. _He_ wasn't here, his body was, lifeless and empty.

There was a buzzing in her pocket; Brennan reached into her pocket and extracted her cell phone, keeping it under her coat to protect it from the rain.

The text message was from Cam. "Cullen wants to see you at the Hoover as soon as possible. "


	7. Black Balloon

**Chapter Seven**

_Black Balloon_

_You know the lies they always told you  
And the love you never knew  
What's the things they never showed you  
That swallowed the light from the sun  
Inside your room_

_Comin' down the world turned over  
And angels fall without you there  
And I go on as you get colder  
or are you someone's prayer?_

_~Goo Goo Dolls_

Sam Cullen was _not _having the greatest few days. Yesterday, there had been the news that Mitchell Gray had been killed. Then there had been the multiple arguments with Booth. All in all, his biggest operation was not going as smoothly as hoped.

In addition to all that, yesterday there had been the visit from Agent Perotta, stating that was hoping to return to field work and partner with her, followed two hours later by Lance Sweets, categorically insisting that Cullen should refuse Dr. Brennan's request. When pressed for a specific reason, however, Sweets had become rather uncooperative.

Then, this morning, there had been the urgent call from the Seattle field office. Ironically, they needed a forensic anthropologist. Soon. And covertly.

Now, the forensic anthropologist in question entered his office, looking somewhat worse for the wear.

Brennan had run back to Booth's to change from her soaking wet clothes, but didn't take the time dry her hair. It was pulled back, wet, curled tendrils spilling chaotically from the ponytail.

And, as Cullen noted with more than a twinge of guilt, it was obvious she had been crying recently.

"Dr. Brennan," he said, nodding his head in greeting.

"You wanted to see me?" She jumped right to the point, sitting stiffly in one of the chairs facing the deputy director's desk.

"Yes. Agent Perotta informed me of your desire to resume working with us, in active field duty. However…I have a slightly different proposition for you."

Instantly skeptical, Brennan's brow furrowed. "What's that?"

"Are you familiar with the serial killer in Washington state? Been active the past year?"

She nodded slowly, "They found three victims early on, correct? All women, twenties or thirties. Suspected that he killed seven others, but no remains recovered."

"Exactly. Cause of death was multiple stab wounds. I got a call this morning from the Seattle field office; they discovered his current burial site, in the mountains outside Seattle...eleven victims, four more than suspected. Some of them seem very recent."

"Alright…"

"And none of the closer forensic anthropologists are available. They've requested you come out, help identify the victims, and consult on the case. They're hoping this will give them what they need to finally catch the bastard."

"Oh…" Brennan's mind leapt ahead. An active serial killer case. Without Booth. It would be dangerous.

And that's what she wanted, right?

"I can do that."

Cullen rubbed his hands together. "Alright, excellent . There are a couple of conditions you may want to know about first-" The phone rang. Calls that went directly to him, rather than through a secretary, usually indicated something urgent, so Cullen broke off speaking to glance down.

He froze.

The line from the safehouse.

And he knew the most frequent caller.

For a split second, Cullen debated ignoring the call. But he couldn't do it; emergencies did happen.

"Excuse me" He snatched up the phone, every muscle in his body tense. "Cullen."

"Something actually happened this time," came Booth's voice.

"Put someone else on," Cullen ordered brusquely, not trusting himself not to slip up and call Booth by his name in a moment of frustration. Not to mention the fact that he felt incredibly horrible sitting there, talking to him in front of his obviously grieving partner.

"What? Why? Cullen, I'm serious, Patrick was on surveillance and he confirmed-"

"Put Patrick on. Now."

After a moment of grumbling, the other agent's voice came over the line. "Reynolds rejoined them, sir. Saw him myself."

Cullen smiled triumphantly. "Excellent. Get everyone together, as soon as possible. Call me back in ten minutes. Good work, Pat. And, listen…" Cullen thought of the two week deadline. "We need to move this along."

He hung up soon after, returning his attention to Dr. Brennan. "Sorry about that."

"You mentioned conditions?"

"Oh, yes." Cullen focused his attention on Brennan. "The media was all over this case a month or so ago, and their local news still is. The thing is, they're hoping the killer may return to the burial location, so no one wants it to get out that they've found it. At all."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning this is strictly need to know. Don't reveal any specifics on where you're going, not even to your coworkers. I've cleared your time with Dr. Saroyan already. We'd also prefer communications be kept limited while you're there. If you need to send anything for consultation with your own lab, send it here and we'll make sure they get it."

"Fine." Brennan agreed quickly; he'd just made the situation much easier. If she told Angela what she was doing, she would panic.

"And we're sending Perotta with you. If you're planning on assisting with the investigation we want one of our own there with you."

In a slightly more reluctant tone, Brennan agreed, "Alright. When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow morning too soon?"

Brennan was quiet for a moment, then answered, "Tomorrow morning is fine. For how long?"

"Well, there's no way of predicting it, of course, if you'd like to help investigate. But it's a long standing case, so there's every chance nothing will happen. A certain amount is up to you, but if I were to guess…" Cullen hesitated. He felt slightly guilty, now, sending her away when it was possible Booth could be returning at anytime. He thought of the deal he'd struck with Booth. "…how about you give them about two weeks?"

~(B*B)~

Booth hadn't been in such high spirits the whole time he'd been here.

Reynolds had been spotted. It was real, the false rumor had worked.

And they were planning, _really_ planning the final stage of the plan. The _final _stage.

It could be over even sooner than Cullen's two week deadline.

He started planning what he would do.

Go to Rebecca's. See Parker. Hold him. Throw a football around. Let him show every piece of homework or artwork he'd brought home from school in the past month.

Go see Bones. Hug her, tighter and longer than any 'guy hug' would really be. Tell her how much he'd missed her. Apologize for putting her in such a bad position. Let her vent, or yell, or whatever she needed to. Apologize again. Take her to the diner. Have pie. THEN ask her why the hell she hadn't called.

~(B*B)~

"Absolutely not."

"Angela, it's already done. There's no point in arguing," Brennan stated wearily.

They were standing in her office, minutes after she'd announced to the team that she'd be taking a few weeks to go out of town and help with a long standing FBI case.

"You _can't_ do this to me, Brennan!" Angela was on the verge of tears. "You can_not_ leave town to some undisclosed location to help with some undisclosed FBI business! Not now. Not after what happened on Wednesday."

"_Nothing_ happened, Angela! I fell rappelling because I was being careless, and then passed out because I took painkillers on an empty stomach. That is _all_."

"You were _purposefully_ careless rappelling, and you passed out right after you sliced your wrist with a knife!"

"It was an _accident_," Brennan retorted, avoiding Angela's gaze.

Her voice shaking, Angela said fiercely, "You are in no condition to go off on some secret mission for the FBI!"

"That's ridiculous," Brennan replied briskly, purposefully misunderstanding. "A concussion has no long term ramifications, and my stitches will be out in a few days."

"I'm not talking about physical condition. I mean emotional," Angela bit out. "You are a _mess_, Brennan! You're living in a dead guys apartment, you're falling apart in the middle of shopping malls. Don't think I don't know what this trip is about. You told me yourself you weren't interested in field duty anymore, that it would hurt too much to have a partner besides Booth, and _all of sudden_ you're interested again? And now you're flying God knows where to help with some highly sensitive case? You are _literally_ trying to get yourself killed! And I am _supposed_ to be watching you to make sure that doesn't happen-"

Brennan, who had been listening tiredly to her best friend's tirade, suddenly interrupted, "What? Who says you're supposed to be watching me?"

"Sweets," Angela replied instantly, too terrified and angry to censor herself. "He said the best thing I can do to make sure you don't do something stupid is to keep an eye on you, and keep you from doing something like the rappelling incident again-"

"You talked to Sweets about this?" In contrast to Angela's borderline hysterical tone, Brennan spoke slowly and deliberately, each syllable practically vibrating with anger.

Angela's voice faltered momentarily. "I-well, yeah. I was worried about you, and I wanted to know how to help…"

"You went to _Sweets_, my former _therapist_, and told him about what happened in the mountains? Even though I told you not to tell, and I quote, 'Cam or _anyone_' about it."

"I didn't tell him about the wrist thing. I thought that's all you meant."

Losing the calm tone a little, Brennan shot back heatedly, "No, I meant _all _of it. What the _hell_, Angela? What gives you the right to go behind my back and consult a psychologist, which you know I hate?"

Her own anger returning, Angela shot back, "God, I don't know. How about the fact that I am _terrified_, Brennan?! How about the fact that I had to _see_ you falling down a mountain, or bleeding from your wrist and passing out? That I can't _stop_ seeing it? Or maybe it's the fact that you refused to give me a straight answer when I confronted you with the fact that you seem awfully keen to fucking _die_. I needed advice. You need help, and if you won't go for it yourself, I was trying to do it for you before you end up dead."

Brennan's eyes widened. "So you went to Sweets and told him I am _suicidal_? Is that _really_ what you think of me?"

"I don't know what to think! It's been a _month,_ and you're getting _worse_, not better! And I know what it's like to lose someone, I do. You were there, Bren, when Kirk died, and you helped me through it. You told me I'd have another chance with someone else. And, yeah, there were times when it hurt _so_ much. But I got through it without throwing myself off mountains or cutting my wrists open, acting like some melodramatic teenager!"

Angela regretted the words instantly; Brennan flinched, and took an actual step back, as though the words were filling the space between them. Her voice barely a whisper, she repeated, "_Melodramatic_?" Then, louder. "Melodramatic?! Booth is _dead_. He died when I should have! Because of _me_. And I loved him and never said it. How dare you even _attempt_ to draw a comparison? Because if Booth had loved me, I wouldn't have wanted him three weeks a year. I'd want him every fucking day. And we _had_ spent nearly every day together for three years. He was _everything_, Angela. He was my family, my best friend, the most important person…" Her voice hitched; tears were streaming down her face, and Angela's too. "And it hurts so much. All the time. I am _barely_ breathing. I'm not living, not really. And when I think about getting through another month, another year, even more than that without him? I don't know that I can do that. And _that_ is what's terrifying. I'm _dying,_ Angela. I've been dying since she pulled that trigger, and maybe I _do_ wish something would just hurry up and _finish it_ already."

Angela was sobbing hard now, too hard to even choke out an apology, or a protest. Swallowing her own sobs, Brennan continued, "And so now I am_ going. _And I don't need you trying to fix me. I don't need you running to Sweets, or to my father or to whoever else you've told. And I'm not allowed to communicate much, so I won't be calling. You say you've spent half your life worrying about me, maybe you should take this as a chance to be rid of the burden," Brennan finished, her voice finally cracking.

Leaving Angela sobbing in front of her desk, Brennan turned and hurried out of her office.

~(B*B)~

Brennan packed quickly. She didn't even have to home; enough of her stuff had made its way to Booth's apartment. She took a couple of her favorite photos, along with Jasper and Brainy Smurf and a few of Booth's shirts.

Then, she left; she had a feeling it wouldn't be long before Angela showed up, and Brennan wasn't ready to see her.

At first, she had just been angry and humiliated that Angela had told Sweets so much. Not only about what had happened Wednesday, but about the things they'd talked about, maybe every conversation since the funeral. And was it only Sweets? Brennan had assumed, from the way Hodgins talked, that she had been sharing a certain amount with her fiancée, but was that all? How much had she told Max, to get him to rush over the way he did?

Brennan wasn't much for talking about her feelings, and when she did, there were two people she trusted with secrets and honesty. But Booth was gone, and Angela…well, Angela had done this.

Then there was the rest of it. The melodramatic comment, the comparison to Kirk's death…As understanding as Angela had been, she thought Brennan was weak.

And there was still a voice inside Brennan's head, the rational, objective voice, that agreed with Angela whole heartedly.

And everyone knew. They all knew how weak she was. Hodgins, her father, Sweets, even her best friend.

If Booth were there, he would agree.

~(B*B)~

Moments after Brennan stumbled past the rest of them in tears, Hodgins, completely bewildered, went into the anthropologist's office to find his fiancée standing in the middle of the room, her face in her hands, crying her heart out.

"Angie…" Hodgins gently took her elbow and led her to the couch, where she collapsed against him, crying harder. "Ssh, baby….Angela, don't cry so hard, alright? Just tell me what happened."

Sniffling, her sobs finally lessening, Angela choked out, "I messed up, Jack."

"Hey, c'mon…" Jack cupped Angela's cheek with his palm, gently turning her to meet his gaze. "What happened, babe?"

"We…we had a fight and, and I…" Her voice broke. "I shouldn't…I shouldn't have gone to Sweets. She trusted me…"

"You were worried about her," Hodgins said gently.

"And I made it sound like I think she's being pathetic about Booth."

Surprised by this, Jack started to shake his head. "I'm sure you didn't-"

"I compared her to a m-melodramatic teenager," Angela wailed.

Stiffening a little, Hodgins exhaled slowly. "Oh…"

The brief flash of judgment on her fiancée's face made Angela's sobs redouble. "I know, I-I was horrible! I compared it to Kirk dying, when it's really not the same thing, and, and Brennan…Brennan said since I've been w-worrying about her half my life I should be glad to be rid of the burden!" Angela covered her face with her hands, and Hodgins wrapped his arms around her immediately.

"Heeey, sssh. It's gonna be okay, Ange. It's alright, come on…she didn't mean that, and you didn't mean what you said, either. It was a fight. Best friends have fights sometimes."

Shaking her head against his chest, Angela whimpered, "No, Bren and I….we don't fight, not like this." She drew back from his embrace, looking at him, her eyes anguished. "You don't understand, Jack, if…if_ I_ made her feel like a burden….of _course_ I worry, Jack, but it's not…it's not her fault, it _isn't_. It's not her fault that when we met she had a foster father who liked to beat and rape her, and once she didn't show up at school and I called the police, and they found her in the trunk of car, and she'd been there for two days and she was nearly dead…"

Hodgins eyes had widened to almost comical proportions, but he didn't interrupt. He thought, briefly, of himself and Brennan, trapped in that car, and his stomach lurched unpleasantly.

"…and it's not her fault Booth died and _of course_ she's messed up because of it, and now she's leaving tomorrow to do something dangerous with the FBI-"

"Hey, hey, hey. Stop for a second, Angie, alright?" Jack lightly brushed his thumb over her cheeks, wiping her tears. "Just go apologize."

"She won't be there. I know Bren, she'll have run off…" Angela's face crumpled. "She leaves in the morning, and she said…she said they told her no communication."

Jack stood up, extending a hand. "Then we'll find her."

_A/N: So this was another short one, but clearly it's pretty important, setting up the next part of the story. A lot of this one WAS set-up (Booth's mission has an end in sight, but Brennan's starting one of her own), but another thing I love about it was the Brennan and Angela fight. I've loved incorporating their friendship into this story, and for me, that fight was a very important moment. _

_So I'm interested in seeing what you thought about their fight, as well as the new developments for Brennan and Booth. Oh, and fun fact…when I wrote it, I never even realized the end of the previous chapter was a total mislead, suggesting that maybe Cullen was going to tell her the truth. I only noticed when I went back to edit. But I never intended Bren to find out that way. To know how I do intend for her to find out…well, stay tuned._

_Oh, and REVIEW._


	8. Home

_Hey, everyone. Your response to the last chapter was awesome, and I'm so glad to know you're all enjoying this. This chapters a pretty important one, and there's a small time jump partway through, which I think you will appreciate. Let me know what you think!_

**Chapter Eight**

_Home_

_Wish I were with you  
I couldn't stay  
Every direction  
Leads me away  
Pray for tomorrow  
But for today All I want is to be home_

_Echoes and silence  
Patience and grace  
All of these moments  
I'll never replace  
No fear of my heart  
Absence of faith And all I want is to be home_

_Foo Fighters _

It had been harder than she'd thought to leave Booth's apartment, not knowing exactly when she'd be back. She wanted to cram every bit of evidence of Booth she could into her suitcase, but of course, that wasn't logical.

She fought tears as she shut the door behind her and hurried to her car; she was done crying. That was at least one weakness she was determined to fight.

Brennan drove to the Hoover, where she was to meet Perotta in the morning, and left her car, with her suitcase inside, in the parking lot.

And she began to walk.

It was early, and the sun was just setting over the city, the sky painted with streaks of orange and pink. Brennan walked the short distance to the diner. She didn't go in, just stood outside, letting memories wash over her.

_Bones, hey…there's more than one kind of family._

_It's a good old song, right? Right._

_I'm not a bad daughter…a bad person? You're not a bad anything._

_Every once in awhile two people meet, and there's that spark….making love? Making love…that's when two people become one._

_You're better than Smurfette. You've got your looks and a whole lot more._

Chest tightening, Brennan kept walking, several blocks away until she came to what used to be Wong Fu's. it had closed, sometime in their second year of partnership, and Booth had been heartbroken. It was still empty.

_You saved so many people, Booth. Don't forget that._

_Who's the secret Santa now?_

_I'm proud you asked, Temperance…your people are my people. I have people? Hey…I have people._

She walked the length of the National Mall when the sky grew darker.

_You and me…we're the center. And the center must hold. So…are we gonna hold? Yeah. We'll hold. We're the center._

_I thought you were gonna kiss my hand again._

She settled on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial for a good half hour, trying to ignore the way this all felt like some sort of goodbye.

_I'm sorry, is that rude? Not from someone who's been drinking._

_We played cards. Cool. I killed him. Good for you._

When it was late enough for the lab to be empty, Brennan walked back to the Jeffersonian and let herself in. Before going on the platform, however, Brennan opened the doors and walked out, into the garden.

_What are you trying to do? Blackmail you. Blackmail a federal agent? Yes. I don't like it. I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to. Fine, you're in._

It felt like forever ago. Back inside, she walked through the lab and her office, the memories assaulting her, too many to process.

_Where did you get that? What does it matter…it's just a thing, right?_

_I miss that…someone caring where I am all the time. Bones! Where are ya?_

_Meet…Jasper. _

_You're gonna be okay. Yeah? Definitely._

_Are you going to betray me? No._

_I don't understand, what way do I look? Well, you know…you're structured…very well. As are you. _

_Was that enough steamboats?_

_You're my partner. It's a guy hug. Take it._

Her eye's literally aching from the effort of keeping her tears in check, Brennan left, walking back to her car at the Hoover, and promptly driving to the last place on her mini-tour.

The cemetery, where she'd started her morning.

This time, there was no talking. She didn't bother; she still didn't believe in it. She wasn't there because she thought it brought her closer to Booth; in fact, the idea of his body, empty and lifeless, made her feel further away.

She went because she thought Booth would be glad.

So she sat, quietly, never crying, for the rest of the night, turning over the other memories.

_I know who you are. Hey, I know._

_Full participation in the case. Fine. Not just lab work, everything._

_I knew you wouldn't give up. _

_Brain and heart, Bones. Brain and heart._

_Everything happens eventually. All that stuff, you think never happens? It happens. You just have to be ready for it._

_I love my gift, Booth. Merry Christmas, Bones._

_Temperance Brennan…I've worked with this woman. I've stood over death with her, I've faced down death with her. Sweets, he's brilliant, he is, but he's wrong. She could not have done this._

And when morning came, she left the cemetery and drove back to the Hoover. Ready to go.

~(B*B)~

At 3:30 a.m, Angela gave up.

She was slumped against Booth's apartment door, Jack across the hall from her, nodding off every few minutes.

"Jack?" She nudged his foot with hers, and his blue eyes snapped open. "She isn't coming back."

He glanced down at his watch, then leveled his fiancée with a sympathetic look. "You sure?"

Biting her lip and nodding, Angela whispered, "Yeah." She'd been there for hours, while Hodgins drove to the check Brennan's own apartment and the lab. Tired, she rubbed her eyes. "What if something happens to her, Jack?"

Hodgins took her hand and pulled her to a standing position, but instead of letting go, her laced their fingers together and squeezed gently. "You don't even know what she's doing."

"I know _why_." Angela said shakily. "I just want to tell her I love her and I'm sorry and I can't even imagine how hard this must be…"

Placing a kiss against the back of her knuckles, Jack assured her quietly, "You will. When she gets back."

~(B*B)~

Special Agent Payton Perotta had realized after about one minute that was _not _in a better place than she'd been during their first meeting. When she had to speak at all, she was curt and distant. It had made for an awkward trip to the airport, and Perotta had been massively relieved when immediately fell asleep on the plane.

That is, until an hour into the flight, when Brennan began softly whimpering in her sleep, drawing alarmed glances from all the surrounding aisles.

_Shit_.

"Dr. Brennan?" Perotta hissed, praying the anthropologist was a light sleeper. "Dr. Brennan?"

Her eyelids were fluttering but not opening; just enough, Perotta noticed, for tears to squeeze their way out and streak down her cheeks. Brennan flinched a little, her hand tightening into a fist like she was holding onto something.

"Dr. Brennan!" A little louder this time, for the doctor's own sake; people were staring.

She whimpered again, than managed one word, his name. "Booth…"

God, it was _sad._ Perotta didn't even know the woman, and she'd barely known Booth. But everyone knew about the two of them together, for both their success and the legendary bond the partners had, all the times they'd saved each other, their fierce loyalty, and of course those pesky rumors about sex and love that never really went away.

Perotta put a firm hand on the other woman's shoulder and shook. "Dr. Brennan!"

And finally her eyes, that brilliant, depthless blue, snapped open, panicked and wet. Gulping air, Brennan slowly seemed to realize her surroundings.

She sat up quickly, swiping her arm across her face in a quick motion, as the other passengers around them tried to pretend like they weren't looking.

"Sorry," Brennan muttered, her cheeks red, not even sparing Perotta a look.

"No problem…" Perotta watched her fumbled with her bottle of water, hands shaking violently, and tactfully decided to not mention Booth at all if possible.

After a few minutes, Perotta chanced a sidelong glance at her temporary partner, who was now staring straight ahead, hands clasped in front of her, a muscle jumping in her tightly clenched jaw, gaze steely.

Perotta sighed inwardly. It was going to be a long case.

_Five Days Later_

Booth's heart was pounding in his chest, his entire body buzzing with adrenaline. He eased down lower in the car, pulling the black baseball cap lower over his eyes.

Agent Andrew Latham sat in the backseat of the car, just behind the driver's seat, where Booth sat. It was the first time he'd been anywhere outside the yard of the safehouse in over a month.

The other agents spent the past week making use of their surveillance skills, tailing members of his criminal affiliates to try to catch glimpses of Reynolds himself. He was still covert, being careful, but after a few nights, they began to pick up patterns.

Like, for example, the fact that guy was as much of an addict as he had been six years ago, and that he met a dealer in the alley across the street from where Booth was currently parked every two nights, suggesting he was supplying not only himself but some of his buddies as well.

Patrick Reddick was the closest to them, sitting on the curb outside the alley, several yards down; his curly black hair now unkempt enough so that, when coupled with the long, tattered black coat and the proper posture, he looked for all the world like a homeless person, something this particular street was littered with.

There were other agents, at further distances , watching closely, their weapons ready.

Booth couldn't believe it might actually go down like this. Simple stakeout in a back alley, waiting for a drug bust…it seemed so common for Reynolds' level. Apparently, the ruse really had worked. The guy thought no one was watching.

"'S that him?" Andrew asked under his breath, and Booth focused on the dark figure moving swiftly toward the alley.

"Can't tell…matches his build, and his gate." Booth smiled a little at his own answer; it reminded him of something Bones might point out.

The walkie talkie in Booth's left hand crackled, from the agents with the surveillance equipment. "That's him."

Booth glanced at Andrew, who nodded. They waited, as Reynolds approached the dealer, who was slumped against one of the buildings.

"Now."

Drawing his gun, Booth opened his car door and sprinted across the street, Andrew keeping stride. "FBI, hands in the air!"

The dealer instantly turned tail and ran, but Reynolds was fast, drawing his own weapon and aiming at Booth.

Booth couldn't help but enjoy the way Reynolds' look of recognition was instantly replaced with complete shock.

"Drop the weapon."

His eyes darted back and forth between the two agents, calculating. Then, Booth noticed his thumb move, subtly trying to undo the safety.

Booth shot, aiming at his right leg, and sent him sprawling.

"Calvin Reynolds, you are under arrest-"

He sat up abruptly, firing off a round that caused Andrew and Booth to leap two different directions, away from his direct line.

A final shot cracked through the air, and then everything was silent. Picking himself up off the pavement, Booth took in the scene: Reynolds was unmoving on the ground, and Patrick was now standing, his face set, gun drawn.

"He's dead," Patrick said flatly, then he met Booth's eyes. "It's over."

It was over. After the long, agonizing buildup, it seemed almost anticlimactic. The whole thing had taken less than two minutes.

Booth felt a grin spreading over his face, as inappropriate as it seemed in the situation.

_Holy shit, it's actually over._

_I can go home_.

~(B*B)~

"Anything new, Dr. Brennan?" Agent Lucas Wellman asked, approaching her in the shoddy little FBI lab, Agent Perotta, as usual not far behind him.

"Not on the bones, no. But I did notice something interesting in your FBI tech's analysis of the particulets."

It had been a long week. Brennan had made positive identifications on all eleven of the victims, as well as time of death, which revealed that five of the murders took place within the last two months, the latest only two weeks ago. All of those victims also disappeared at night, all on Friday. Brennan had also determined that all of them had been knocked out with chloroform, taken to a killing site, had their ankles bound, and were killed within six hours of their capture, following multiple grazes with a knife and one, fatal stab.

"They noted that all the victims certain particulates in common, all of which pointed to the still unidentified holding spot."

"Which gave us nothing specific to identify, other than the fact that it's somewhere in the mountains near where we found the bodies buried," Wellman recapped.

"_A_nd is the assumed murder location," Perotta added.

"Yes. But the last five victims, the most recent…they have even more particulates in common."

"So what's that mean?" Wellman questioned. "They have more stuff from the holding site, maybe? Or the burial ground?"

"No, this suggests an entirely different location in common."

Perotta frowned. "So…they were held in one place…killed in another…and buried in another entirely?"

"Actually, I think it's more likely they were held and killed in one place, buried in another…and taken from another."

The agents, who had gotten quite 'friendly' over the past week, exchanged a glance. "So…you're saying the last five victims were kidnapped from the same location?"

"What location?"

"The particulates they share are all quite common, and what they most likely add up to is…a public park."

"A public park…" Wellman repeated thoughtfully; then, his eyes lit up. "Tryon Park!"

For a moment, Perotta looked blank, then she, too, looked excited, "The place Jennifer Durst's sister said she used to go to jog!"

"And the place that's right by Katherine Davis' office."

"That's geographically plausible based on our burial ground and assumed position for killing site."

"So our killer waits, on Friday nights, watching for women walking alone through the park…"

"Sneaks up on them, knocks them out with the chloroform…"

"…drags them to the killing site!"

Brennan opened her mouth to point out that this was pure conjecture, particularly the selection of the park, but decided not to bother. Instead, she just commented, "We should go the park and check for the matching particulates."

Wellman and Perotta were still grinning inanely at each other, but Wellman managed to break the spell and nod. "Yeah, let's do that. We'll go now."

Perotta raised an eyebrow. "It's dark out."

Wellman grinned. "I'll protect you," he teased, prompting an eye roll. "No, but it's better this way. No families around, fewer people."

He signaled at a couple other FBI lab workers, then headed out with Perotta, who threw a look over her shoulder. "Coming, Dr. Brennan?"

Sighing, Brennan trailed silently behind. She'd been mostly confined to the lab for a week, nothing dangerous at all, and while the consuming nature of the case should have been a decent distraction, it wasn't. The nightmares hadn't gone away (thank God she'd paid for her own room rather than stay in the one the FBI had booked for her _and_ Perotta), and she was still biting back tears at the slightest provocation.

Besides that, working with FBI again drew the inevitable comparisons to Booth.

Ahead of her, Perotta was asking, "So if we confirm the location, what do we do with it?"

"Are you forgetting Ellie Porter was only killed two weeks ago. He's active, and he's even given us a day of the week. If we know his location, we can set a trap, put someone undercover as bait."

At this, Brennan shook her own thoughts away, raising her head to listen.

~(B*B)~

The morning after his mission effectively ended with Reynolds' death, Booth stepped out of Rebecca's house after three solid hours of Parker time, feeling almost dizzy with happiness. He had never been so glad to see his son. Hell, he'd never been so glad to see Rebecca, or even Captain Fantastic himself. Anyone who wasn't one of the seven agents he'd seen over the past month was a welcome sight.

But he had an even more welcome sight, waiting on him. His first objective had been Parker, and his second was Bones.

Driving to the Jeffersonian, the same giddiness that had been filling him all morning was still there, but there was also a generous amount of nerves.

This would be his first confrontation with people who thought he was dead, and it would probably be one of the worst. And even Bones herself was going to be much more complicated than Parker, who had needed no explanation before throwing himself into his father's embrace.

Still, it didn't matter. Just to see her… she could yell the walls down and he'd stand happily and take it, probably grinning like a maniac the whole time.

And the calling issue, they could deal with later.

It _was_ going to be awkward, just waltzing into the lab like he'd risen from the dead. But any other scenario, like calling them for example, seemed equally inappropriate.

Soon he was in the Jeffersonian, actually shaking a little, he was so damn excited and nervous.

The forensic platform came into view and he couldn't help but grin. Bones wasn't there, which was probably better. He was going to owe the other squints an explanation, and he was pretty sure once he had her in his vision Booth wouldn't be able to focus on much else.

Cam, Hodgins, Zack, and Angela were all there, all working intently enough so they didn't notice him until he scanned his card and hopped up the steps to the platform.

Cam turned first, and there was a clatter as a beaker slipped from her hand, shattering. Hodgins let out an audible gasp, Zack's eyes nearly popped from his head, and Angela actually let out a strangled yell.

They all stared at him, literally, as if they were looking at a ghost. Booth, suddenly wishing he'd prepared a little better, grinned, sheepishly, "Hey."

Silence. Then, Hodgins croaked out hoarsely, "Did someone accidentally release some kind of toxin? One that causes hallucinations maybe?"

Zack was quick to say, "It's extremely unlikely that any toxin would provoke the same hallucination in all of us."

Hodgins swallowed, his throat dry. "So, then…what? A ghost?"

Booth grinned a little; he'd even missed Hodgins' weird beliefs. "Not a ghost, Hodgins," Booth said. "Just-"

"You're dead," Cam told him unsteadily. "You died, we went to your funeral…"

He sighed. "I know. Listen, it was…it was all the Bureau. There was a guy, I drove him underground six years ago, and Cullen decided to fake my death and hope it provoked him out of hiding so we could catch him. It took longer than we thought, believe me…I _never_ thought it would be this long."

"It was _fake_?" Angela spoke for the first time, her voice strangled. "It was all _fake_?"

"I'm sorry. I really am, but it was a national security issue and hardly anyone was able to know." He was tired, suddenly, of pretending Bones' absence wasn't driving him crazy. "Where's Bones?"

Angela's entire demeanor changed. She stiffened, and her features melded into one of pure fury.

Then, ignoring Hodgins' quiet murmuring of her name, she rushed toward Booth and slapped him as hard as she possibly could; Booth took a step back, eyes widening, and Angela landed another blow to his stomach. "You unbelievably." A punch on the arm. "Cruel." Nails, digging into his forearm and jerking him forward. "Heartless." A punch against his ribs. "_Bastard._"

Booth finally managed to recover from the shock and seized Angela's flailing wrists, dimly noting that no one was leaping to his defense. "Jesus, Ange, I'm _sorry_. I didn't have much of a choice. Just tell me where Bones is."

Angela's eyes flashed, so completely livid that hot tears of anger surged forward. "Don't you dare! Don't you _dare _say her name, Booth! Did you ever _once_ think about what it might _do_ to her?! Did you ever stop to wonder how _she _was taking your _death_, you fucking asshole?!"

"Wh-what?" An uneasy knot of fear tightening in his stomach, Booth stammered, "But, but Bones knew. She was on my list. My parents, my brother, Rebecca and Parker, and her, that was all. Cullen told me she knew, she _had_ to."

Voice dangerously quiet, Angela hissed, "I can _assure_ you she had absolutely no idea the fact that you _died_ for _her_ was anything but completely, horrifically _real._"

Panic choking him, Booth let his eyes drift over all the others. No one contradicted Angela, who continued, "Unless you think she's a good enough actress to _force_ herself to cry her heart out just about every day. Or collapse into a ball at your funeral when your coffin went underground." Angela pressed her lips together, not going further, not wanting to make the mistake again of spilling Brennan's secrets.

Booth's face was ashen; he actually swayed a little, as though he might collapse, but after a moment he spun on his heel and sprinted to the other side of the platform, where he grabbed a wastebasket near Zack's station and fell to his knees, heaving violently.

Angela walked shakily to the platform stairs and sat down, her face in her hands, murmuring, "Oh, my God. Oh my God."

Booth straightened, his eyes wild. "Where is she? I have to see her, I have to, to tell…" His voice faded. Angela was glaring at him, while Zack blatantly looked away, and Hodgins just folded his arms, his face impassive. "Camille. Where is Bones?"

Cam sighed, inwardly cursing herself for failing to provide a negative enough expression. This entire thing was surreal. "She's out of town, Seeley."

Booth straightened, the panic in his eyes giving way to something more like determination. "Out of town where?" he asked briskly, in a voice that suggested he was ready to be on the next plane.

"We don't know."

Determination gone, panic returned. "What do you mean you _don't know_? Where the hell is Bones?"

Growing increasingly more irritated, Cam retorted, "Seeley, you need to get a grip. This is most definitely not _our_ fault." She raised her eyebrows, her expression making it clear just _whose_ fault it was. "She's on a confidential assignment with the FBI." Booth's face went white. "She left last week."

Hodgins interrupted, speaking flatly, "But you should probably know this is the first time she's done any sort of field work in a month."

"I…I…" Booth screwed his eyes shut, breathing hard. He couldn't wrap his mind around this. She was supposed to be here, waiting on him, and she was supposed to be _okay_. She was supposed to have known.

He had never even questioned it. Even the fact that she hadn't called…of all the possibilities, from the likely (she was angry at him, she didn't think it was necessary) to the unlikely (the agent hadn't given her the number, she had been hurt and no one had told him), the idea that she may not have been told at all had never even crossed his mind.

Angela's words were turning over and over in his mind, phrases that made nearly brought him to his knees.

_Cry her heart out every day._

_Collapse into a ball at your funeral._

Damn it.

And then there was another point; she was off on some confidential FBI business (the irony of which did not escape him) _without him._

Fear breathed in his ear like a monster in his ear, and his whole body tensed. "What kind of assignment? Who went with her? Who decided this?" he demanded.

Zack spoke up, answering the onslaught of questions in a rush. "Due to the nature of the term confidential, we aren't aware of any details on the assignment. It is our understanding she was accompanied by Special Agent Payton Perotta. And while it was of course 's own decision to accept the assignment, Deputy Director Cullen made the request."

"_Cullen_," Booth nearly growled the name. Rage wrapped tight around his stomach, and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

Cullen, who in the hospital had assured him that, as long as he chose carefully, those he felt needed to know would be informed.

Cullen, who had never mentioned, in all the times Booth had spoken to him, even the times he'd mentioned Brennan, that he'd chosen to take her off the list.

Cullen, who had now sent her out of town on some covert, most likely dangerous, assignment, _knowing_ that Booth would be back soon.

"I have to go. I have to see Cullen," he muttered, turning abruptly and walking off the platform.

He was down the stairs when Angela's voice, forceful and angry, stopped him, "_Hey_." Booth turned. Angela was on her feet again, her hands balled into fists. "There is no possible way you can comprehend what the past month has been like for her. _We_ can't comprehend it, and we were here, watching. And a lot of that…is on _you_," her voice cracked, her gaze still steely. "If you can't make this right…if she isn't…" she swallowed, then said, "Make this right, or I will kill you myself."

He looked into the artist's heated, furious eyes, and he had a feeling she wasn't using 'I'll kill you' as a mere expression.

He didn't blame her.

~(B*B)~

Agent Perotta exited her hotel room, tired and wanting a cup of coffee, for the day and was floored to find Dr. Brennan waiting on her in the hallway.

"They're completely wrong about the park," Brennan stated flatly, not bothering with a greeting.

Perotta blinked at her for a moment, fairly certain it was the first time on the trip that the anthropologist had voluntarily engaged her. Recovering, she replied, "Yeah, you made yourself pretty clear last night."

Brennan gritted her teeth, frustrated. She had known after about a half hour of exploring Tryon Park the night before that they had the wrong place…and she wasn't even the particulates expert. But the report that had led them there had mentioned evidence of a certain type of soil that was not present in Tryon Park.

Agent Wellman, though, was completely focused on all the investigative reasons, like location and connection to victims, that the park made sense as the kidnapping location. He had stubbornly brushed her off even as she'd tried to point out the fact that there was literally proof that the victims hadn't been there.

She hated to admit it, but his fervent insistence that her science could only lead them so far reminded her of Booth, the first case they'd worked together, when he hadn't believed her examination of an X-ray could reveal cause of death.

Now, she leveled her hard gaze on Perotta. "There is forensic _proof_ that it isn't the park the victims were taken from. Agent Wellman might not be used to working with forensics so closely, but you said yourself Booth and I had to be doing something right if our solve rate was so high." She drew a breath, pushing past the knot in her throat that always came when she so much as said his name. "I am _right_. I checked with their supposed particulates expert and there's another park that does match the particulates nearby…Agape Public Park."

Perotta nodded a little. "Lucas mentioned that, once. But it's much further from the killing sight, and we don't know of any connection to the victims…"

"The fact that it's more…_inconvenient _doesn't exclude it as a possibility. However, the fact that particulate evidence does not match Tryon Park _does_ exclude it. Logically, we should set the trap at Agape."

Sighing, Perotta began to head toward the elevators, Brennan keeping in step with her. "I believe you, . Really. But it's Agent Wellman's case, I'm just…advising. And he thinks we should check out Tryon first. When they see they're wrong, they'll move on."

Brennan felt anger bubbling hot in her gut. _Booth would've done something. He wouldn't have waited. _ "But this man is still _active. _He could take and kill someone else, in _two_ days, while they're wasting time at the wrong place." When Perotta didn't say anything, Brennan added, "Does the fact that you're sexually attracted to Agent Wellman impede your ability to challenge him?

Perotta's cheeks reddened instantly, and she gaped at Brennan for a moment before clearing her throat and attempting to inject some dignity into her tone, "I did challenge him, after your rant last night. All he would say is that he had a feeling. And he's the head, Dr. Brennan. This has been his case for a long time, and he will _not_ change his mind. What would you like me to do?"

Brennan smiled grimly, a smile laced with triumph, as if Perotta had walked into a trap. "You can help me prove them wrong, and keep him from killing another innocent person."


	9. Somewhere a Clock is Ticking

_A/N: Sorry this one's taken a few days. I've been pretty busy, and I wanted to give a couple scenes in this another edit to make sure it was as good as it can get…especially considering this one's a pretty big lead-up chapter. I love your reviews, especially the long ones, because I love knowing what you think. Hope this one doesn't disappoint. _

**Chapter Nine**

_Somewhere a Clock is Ticking_

_I've got this feeling that there's something that I missed  
(I could do most anything to you...)  
Don't you breathe  
Something happened, that I never understood  
You can't leave  
Every second, dripping off my fingertips  
Wage your war  
Another soldier, says he's not afraid to die  
Well I am scared  
In slow motion, the blast is beautiful  
Doors slam shut  
A clock is ticking, but it's hidden far away  
Safe and sound_

_~ Snow Patrol_

Cullen had been preparing himself for the confrontation since he'd gotten the call that Reynolds had been eliminated, and that Booth was heading home. In fact, he had probably, to a certain extent, been preparing for much longer, ever since he made the decision not to tell Dr. Brennan the truth.

But it didn't prepare him for the rage emanating from the special agent as he exploded into his boss' office.

For a moment, fury seemed to literally choke Booth, so much so that he couldn't get a word out. It seemed like an anger too big for words, and he wanted to let it settle, to let it fill the room, before he started talking.

Unfortunately, Cullen interpreted his initial silence as an opportunity for preemptive defense. "Listen, Booth, before you start-"

"No," he interrupted, voice steely and menacingly quiet. "No, _you_ say nothing."

It was a measure of Cullen's guilt that he didn't protest, didn't remind Booth who had the authority here. Instead, he nodded. "Alright."

Booth paced in front of the desk; he couldn't think of where to start. He was still struggling to process the whole thing, to recognize what it meant.

As much as he'd been missing her, all those long days when the emptiness gnawed at him, when he would spend long, idle hours staring at the telephone, just wanting to hear her voice…that endless month that he'd been without her, she had spent it, not only without _him_…but thinking he was dead.

And, according to Angela, falling apart.

He stopped pacing abruptly, then swiveled and faced Cullen, staring him down, his expression calculating, weighing his options. After a moment of contemplation, Booth took three steps forward, leaned his knuckles on Cullen's desk, meeting his gaze, then sent his fist slamming against his bosses cheek.

Cullen pushed back in his rolling chair. Booth watched the older man hold his cheek, remorseless.

Blinking up at the agent, Cullen intoned quietly, "You realize I'm your boss, correct?"

"Fire me," Booth retorted. "I don't give a shit. If you don't, I should walk out myself. I owe you nothing, you poisonous bastard."

Regaining his cool, Cullen met his eyes. "That's true. But you won't quit."

Booth's eyes flashed. "Why the hell not? Why the hell shouldn't I?"

"Because this whole thing is about your partner. And if you quit, that'd hurt her, which you won't do."

The flame of anger in his gut seemed to intensify; Cullen was right, and that just made him angrier. He leaned forward, itching to hurt again, and growled, "You had _no _right. You lied to me. You crossed a line-"

"I agree," Cullen said calmly. "What I did was wrong, but I had to think of my investigation. That was my priority."

"Don't give me that shit! She wasn't going to impede your fucking investigation. Her security clearance is higher than mine, for God's sake!"

Drawing a breath, Cullen continued to attempt to keep his voice calm, a contrast to Booth's furious shouts. "It wasn't about her clearance, Booth. It was about her ability to keep the story going, to be believable."

Booth stared at him, incredulous. "So…so you didn't tell her because you thought she wasn't a good enough _actress_? These are people's lives you're fucking with! Mine, and hers. You gave yourself more power than you deserve, more power than _anyone_ should have. You _used_ me, and I let you do it because you said you'd take care of what I needed. And you fucked that up, too."

"Booth, be reasonable. I looked at the list. I took care of your family…"

"_No_. You didn't. _She's_ my family. Maybe not in the way you'd understand, but she is." He was pacing again, spasmodically eyeing the various items in Cullen's office that he wanted to break. "And Angela said she's been having a hard time. And no wonder. Pam was aiming at her, do you understand that?! And you let her think I just died in her place?" He screeched to a halt again, eyes flaming as they found Cullen's contrite expression. "You think she deserves that?" His volume, which had been practically a bellow, suddenly dropped as his voice grew rough. "You think she hasn't been through enough?! Her parents and her brother and all those foster homes…and you just let her think I…you let her think I left her, too?" His voice splintered, and Booth whipped around suddenly, embarrassed to find hot, angry tears working their way to the surface.

The silence that reigned felt unnatural after all the yelling, and it was Cullen who broke it after a long moment. "I'm sorry."

Booth gritted his teeth, forcing back emotion. "Not interested."

"Well, I am sorry, whether or not you're interested. It was never my intention to hurt Dr. Brennan…or you. And for what it's worth, Booth, I've felt pretty horrible about it."

Booth laughed, dry and humorless. "Gotta tell you, boss, that's not worth much. And, y'know, I couldn't care less about your intentions. Because it happened, it's done." His eyes dry, he rounded again on his boss, features melding into a look of utter disgust. "Fuck you, Cullen. To think I used to respect you. Well, you can fire me right now, I don't care. But first, tell me where the fuck she is."

Cullen sighed, very slow and heavy. "I can't."

Booth stared at him, seething. "You may want to rethink that."

For the first time, Cullen showed his own anger. "Don't give me orders, Booth. I've been pretty damn tolerant about all this because I understand you're upset-"

But Booth was already shaking his head. "No way. No way do you get to pretend like you're being understanding. You've been_ tolerant_ because you damn well know you deserve this. Now _tell me where she is_. Tell me, and I'll walk out that door, and leave you sitting here grateful I didn't wring your neck the second I saw you."

"I can't tell you where she is, Booth. It's strictly need-to-know…"

"Pretty sure I've heard that before," Booth muttered bitterly.

"And it's not my investigation. So the question of _who_ needs to know isn't my decision to make. There's nothing I can do, Booth."

"You sent her away deliberately. You didn't want to deal with both of us when I got back," Booth accused.

Cullen answered in a weary tone, "No, Booth, I didn't arrange for one of the other field offices to need a forensic anthropologist. It's a charming conspiracy theory, but believe me, this one's a little bigger than something I could orchestrate."

Booth's throat narrowed, fear gripping him. "Is it dangerous?"

Features softening slightly, Cullen answered, "I've spoken to Perotta. Dr. Brennan has mostly been doing lab work. Nothing to be concerned about."

Defeated, Booth closed his eyes, setting his jaw. "How long?"

"Nothing's certain, but it shouldn't be more than a week or so."

"A week…" Booth repeated in a hollow voice.

"If you'd like, I can get an e-mail to her and tell her the truth."

Booth's eyes widened. "An _e-mail?_! You want to tell her that you lied to her for a month about her partner being dead in a damn _e-mail_?" He laughed derisively. "Even I did trust you to tell her the truth, that's idiotic. I'll tell her myself."

"Then you'll have to wait," Cullen stated evenly.

Booth glared at him for a moment longer; his cheek was beginning to bruise, which gave Booth a small, grim feeling of satisfaction. He turned, unable to stand the sight of his boss for another second.

"Booth. Take some time off. Relax; spend time with your boy…" Cullen paused, then added, "You earned it."

Not turning to look at him, Booth spat out, "Am I supposed to be grateful?"

"I wouldn't expect you to, no," Cullen answered. "But I think once this is all over…you'll see what you accomplished. You'll see it was worth it."

He was shaking his head. "No, I won't. It wasn't worth it. Not to me."

Cullen sounded annoyed. "Think of those ten families, Booth. They have justice now. Christ, think of how many murders we may be preventing, murders he never got a chance to commit."

Booth didn't relent. "It wasn't worth hurting her."

Maybe he could have understood if his complaint had been his own sacrifice. As much as he'd missed Bones, as much as he'd missed his son…he could have justified that. His own suffering vs. the suffering of ten families, future murder victims…that was an easy choice.

But when it came to the people you love, Booth was pretty sure you were allowed to be selfish. He wouldn't rationalize the positive that had come out of this. Not when Bones had suffered.

Nothing was worth that. Not to him.

~(B*B)~

Booth opened the door to his apartment, exhausted and weighed down. Even a month away from home, the sight of his apartment brought no comfort. He was even drained of the rage that had consumed him earlier; he missed the fury.

He wanted Bones. Probably more than he ever had. He hated that she was somewhere he didn't know, thinking he was dead. Hated that this whole time he'd been irritated because she hadn't called, she'd been…_grieving_ him.

It took about two minutes, standing in his kitchen, before he realized that something was different. It wasn't anything he could specify, even after a long moment of scrutinizing the room. He finally chalked it up to his long absence, and he retreated to his bedroom, leaving his bags in a pile at the doorway.

He was thinking about sleeping in his own bed. He was thinking that tomorrow he would go back to Cullen, to hell with the time off, and force him to reveal Bones' location. He would buy a ticket. He would find her.

All those thoughts dissolved the second he stepped into his bedroom.

It didn't take a second glance to notice the difference here. Photographs covered every available inch; the surfaces of his bureau and beside table, taped to the mirrors. Some were photos he recognized, in his own frames, but others were newer and unfamiliar.

For a moment, Booth was confused. Then he saw a pair of women's shoes kicked on the floor, a pair he thought he might recognize.

Booth flung open his closet door and saw what he expected; her clothes, hung next to his. Her shoes, on top of his own. He walked mechanically into the bathroom.

She hadn't changed anything; all his things were as he'd left it, with Brennan's scattered among them.

His chest hurt as he stared at a bottle of her lotion sitting next to his aftershave. _How had Angela failed to mention that she'd been living in my apartment?_

Booth shook his head, returning to the bedroom. His ties and socks were laying out; his T-shirt drawer had been left open, and was half empty.

He fell onto his bed, the bed he hadn't slept in for a month, and her scent overwhelmed him. From his place in the bed, he could see every photo, his own image staring back at him.

Booth closed his eyes. His pictured Bones living here, surrounding herself with him, even a month after his supposed death. He tried to picture where she might be now, still with no idea that he was home, waiting for her.

Booth rolled over, pressing his face against the pillow, letting her smell overwhelm his senses.

Then, he cried.

~(B*B)~

Brennan sat quietly in the lab Friday morning, listening to Perotta argue, for probably the twentieth time, with Agent Wellman.

Since her reluctant agreement to help Brennan set her own trap for the killer _if_ Wellman couldn't be convinced before Friday night, Perotta had seemed much more determined to change his mind.

Brennan didn't care. She had convinced Perotta. That had been the hard part.

Brennan would be the 'bait'. She'd wander the park, armed of course, and equipped with a tracking device. The latter was a provision in case of the _worst case scenario_…if neither she or Perotta was able to stop the guy.

Of course, Brennan had assured Perotta that that was unlikely. After all, they had no reason to suspect he was armed with anything other than chloroform and a knife, and he seemed to work alone. With Perotta following at a safe distance, they should have no trouble subduing him.

It had felt strange, though, explaining all the reasons the plan was fail safe, when Brennan had a feeling it was all going to go wrong.

Without announcing her departure to Perotta or Wellman, Brennan stood and left the lab, returning to her hotel room.

When she thought about the coming night, she couldn't summon up any emotion. Not fear, or nerves, or even relief. Subconsciously, she had begun to think of it as a sort of end, even though she wasn't even allowing herself to silently acknowledge that thought.

When she thought about it, Brennan always prefaced it with _If. _

_If something happens_, she considered now, sitting on the edge of the bed in her hotel room. _What will it mean for the rest of them?_

She thought, methodically, about everyone that would be left behind _if _something happened.

Her father. And Russ. They'd been without her for fifteen years; they'd be alright. Sad, sure, but they would move on with their lives. Objectively, it wouldn't change much.

Hodgins, Zack. They may miss her, but they didn't need her anymore. Cam would take care of them; Zack would be promoted, and he'd do a fine job. He'd learned all he needed to.

Angela.

A fist knotted somewhere in Brennan's chest. She didn't want her best friend to go through that.

There had been times, in the early years of their friendship, that Brennan had been preparing herself for Angela to leave. So much so that, after Brennan had moved away, every letter or phone call she got from Angela came as a shock. Keeping in touch took effort, and Brennan didn't understand why she was worth that.

After college, four years of living together, the wariness had returned. Every time they went their separate ways, Angela to art school and Brennan to a doctorate program, Angela to Rome and Italy and Fiji and Brennan to El Salvador or Guatemala…Brennan would wait for the time when Angela didn't return a letter, or stopped calling. She would prepare herself to hear that Angela was moving someplace new and fall out of touch.

But Angela had always been there.

And now, it seemed much more likely that Angela, not Brennan, would be the one left behind.

She would be alright. Hodgins would be there, he'd help her through it (_if _something happened).

Except.

They'd had that fight. Brennan's stomach twisted as she replayed that last conversation with Angela. Sixteen years of friendship and they'd never fought like that. And Brennan knew Angela well enough to know that if that ended up being their last conversation, she would never get over it.

Throat narrowing, Brennan very nearly reached for the phone (the hotel room's phone; she'd left her cell phone so she wouldn't have to see how many calls she was missing). But she couldn't do that; Angela knew her too well. What she had to say would put her best friend in so much of a panic she'd have the call traced and be here on the next plane.

Plus, there was that sneaking suspicion that, if she had to hear Angela's voice, apologizing and asking her to come home, Brennan would forget the whole no-crying vow and burst into tears and never stop.

Still, she couldn't leave her with that last, bitter directive to _be rid of the burden_.

Making a choice, she opened up her laptop and opened a word document, where she began to type. After an hour of working and reworking her words to Angela, she went downstairs to the lobby, the only place where she could get internet access in the hotel, and sent the letter as an e-mail.

Brennan was shaking after she hit send and closed the laptop. Somehow, it all felt much closer. Even she couldn't deny the fact that what she'd just sent was pretty close to a goodbye.

_If _something happened.

She returned upstairs to her room, shoving her laptop into her bag, not interested in any reply she might receive, sure she wouldn't be able to make herself read it.

She reached into the outer pocket of one of her suitcases and pulled out one of the photographs she'd packed, the one of Booth and herself at the lab. She traced her finger absently over the photograph, then let her eyes drift shut, conjuring him from memory. Voice, smile, everything.

God, she missed him.

Suddenly, Brennan thought about a moment, maybe ten minutes after Angela had told her Booth was dead. She'd been curled on a ball in the floor of her apartment, the pain of it all hitting her at once as the shock and denial dissolved. And she'd thought, out of nowhere, that if it was true, if Booth really was dead, she, too would die. Maybe not right away, and maybe not with the same blinding flash of pain and concrete cause, but for just that moment, she had been certain it _would_ happen.

And since then, she'd merely been waiting for it.

She glanced at the red illuminated digits on the clock. It was just after noon. She and Perotta would set out that night, just after Wellman and whoever he was bringing with him set off for the incorrect location.

And finally, maybe, it would be finished.`

~(B*B)~

Booth woke up at 12:20 p.m. Friday morning. He'd had a hard time falling asleep the night before, worrying about Bones for hours until he'd finally drifted off, only to wake up soon after. The same nightmare had plagued him, only more vivid than before; this time, Bones had been in a cemetery, crying by his tombstone, and no matter how loud he shouted she hadn't heard him.

For awhile, he wandered his apartment; it seemed at once familiar and unfamiliar to Booth, and he felt a jolt at every small indicator of Bones' presence.

It was nearly three thirty when the insistent knocking on his door began. Startled out of his reverie (he'd been mentally planning a second speech to Cullen), Booth took his time getting over to the door.

He swung the door open and was met with Angela, who immediately shoved past him into the house, her eyes red and wild.

"You didn't tell me she'd been living here," Booth said quietly, not bothering with a greeting. "You didn't say it was that…"

Angela rounded on him, not looking as though she'd been listening, then hurriedly replied, "Yes, she's been living here the whole time. It's like she was afraid of losing more of you than she already had." The words were like a knife, twisting in his gut, but Angela pressed on, oblivious to their effect on Booth. "You have to go get her, Booth."

He drew a breath, trying to make himself focus. "What? Oh. I know I do…I'm going to talk to Cullen again, try to convince him-"

Angela shook her head vigorously, tears springing to her eyes. "No, not _try_, Booth…you have to _make_ him tell you, and you have to go get her. _Soon_, or else…or something's going to happen."

Booth stiffened instantly, every nerve in his body going on alert. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "What's going to happen?! Cullen said she's been doing lab work…"

Angela held out the piece of paper she'd had clutched by her side since entering. "She sent me an e-mail…she's going to do something stupid, Booth, she'd going to put herself in some kind of danger…"

Booth blinked at her. "What are you talking about? Why…" He swallowed thickly. "Why would she do that?"

For a moment, the anger that had possessed her yesterday flared in Angela's dark eyes. "Why do you _think?_ The same reason she hadn't buckled her helmet when she fell rappelling a week and a half ago. The same reason she sliced her wrist with a knife that same day. Probably the same reason she took this case, whatever the hell it is, in the first place, after swearing off field work."

Booth's face was paper white; he looked like Angela had just stabbed him in the gut. Knees going boneless underneath him, he managed to stagger to a chair before they collapsed beneath him. He sunk into it, face in his hands.

Angela drew a rattling breath, pushing away the guilt at once again revealing too much about her best friend. But she firmly believed Booth needed to know; he needed to know what she'd been through, for one thing, and he needed to know how urgent things were now.

"Booth," she said quietly, and he looked up, his face contorted. She held out the e-mail. "Read this."

_Ange,_

_They told me to limit communications, and until now I've listened. I admit that only a part of that was me following protocol, and another part was avoiding talking to you. And that's not because I'm still angry at you, because I'm not. It's just hard sometimes to see what I'm putting you through._

_I know you're worried; I know that's why you talked to Sweets. I also know I haven't been an easy friend to have lately. You should remember this: you've been amazing, Ange. I don't know that I would have made it through the past month without you. And I know how you are; I don't want you to eat yourself up over what happened. I'm sorry I left everything like that. Just know it wasn't your fault; nothing that had happened or will happen…none of it's your fault. You've been great, and I couldn't ask for a better friend._

_Here's something I've never told anyone. Ever since I've been living on D.C., when I've travelled for digs or cases, I always get little twinges of homesickness. It doesn't matter if it's a three day trip or a month long dig, it always hits me after a night or so. I love travelling, but I also love the consistency of home. Maybe it's because I can still remember the three years when home was gone and nothing was consistent…I don't know; I still don't know much about psychology. But whatever the motivation, it was always nice to return; it was a comfort thing, I suppose._

_When I got here, I waited for the customary homesick emotions to begin; they never did. The thought of going home didn't appeal to me. Perhaps it's just that everything else, everything I've felt since he died, is too much, and there's no space for anything else…I speak metaphorically, of course. But maybe it's that whatever concept I had of home is gone now, with him. And for a month I've been missing it. I'm tired, Ange. I'm tired and hurting and I want to go home; I just don't know where it is. There's nothing you could have done differently; you did everything right. _

_Ange, you've been my best friend since we were sixteen. You saved me…twice. However, that doesn't mean you always have to. I don't want you to worry about me anymore. I don't want you to feel guilty. The type of friend you've been, there should never be any need for guilt._

_I love you._

_Bren_

Booth bent his head lower over the piece of paper as he reread the e-mail for the second time; he was teetering precariously close to tears, trembling with the effort of choking back sobs as he reread the paragraphs about home.

_But maybe it's that whatever concept I had of home is gone now, with him. And for a month I've been missing it. I'm tired, Ange. I'm tired and hurting and I want to go home; I just don't know where it is._

He choked on a sob as the tears spilled over, betraying him.

Angela's voice was thick with tears when she spoke, "She apologized. For something that was entirely my fault. She used the word love, which she never does. And all that stuff about wanting to go home, about being tired…I shouldn't feel guilty…" She ran a hand over her face. "She's saying goodbye, Booth. She's…she's going to do something. Something dangerous."

For a long moment, he couldn't tear his gaze from the words in front of him. Then he looked up, swiping his sleeve under his eyes. "She's really…"

"Broken," Angela whispered. "You have no idea."

He swallowed the heart-sized lump in his throat. "I…oh, God…" He moaned quietly. "Wh-what do I do? I c-can't…what if something happens to her?" His voice broke.

Eyes glinting, Angela spoke steadily, "It _can't_. You're…you're the one who makes sure that doesn't happen. Always. You have to go to Cullen, and _make_ him tell you, and you have to go and get her. She _needs_ you. You're the one who has to do this, and you know it."

"I know, I know…I want to, I…I _have _to…" At that, he shook himself and stood, trying to get rid of the shaky feeling and fear. "I'll go. I'll talk to Cullen." He started toward the door, the e-mail still clenched in his fist. He turned at the door and stared at Angela, his brown eyes liquid and full of anguish. "Ange…I never meant for this to happen. I would _never_-"

"I know," She told him, voice barely audible. "Just…bring her home. _Please_."

Booth nodded, his throat too constricted to speak, and then turned and left his apartment.

~(B*B)~

When Booth entered his office for the second time in two days, he was once again a hurricane of palpable emotion. This time, though, it wasn't so much fury as it was determination, laced with barely concealed fear.

"Tell me where she is, Cullen," he ordered.

Cullen heaved a long suffering sigh. "I can't do that, Booth-"

"Damn it, Cullen, you owe me this. You owe _her _this. I'm not a security threat, whatever the hell this is, I don't want any part in the investigation. I need to see her; she needs to know the truth."

Cullen's gaze was pleading; he wanted to be let off the hook. "Booth, you know it's more complicated than that."

"_Something is wrong_, Cullen. Angela Montenegro got an e-mail from her. Something is wrong."

He sat up straighter. "With the investigation?"

Booth gritted his teeth. "With _Bones_. My partner. Something is wrong, Cullen, and that's on _you_." He leaned forward, his face inches from his bosses. He spoke slowly, deliberate and fierce. "_Tell me where she is_."

Cullen studied Booth; his eyes, bloodshot and doing a poor job of disguising terror. His face was chalk white, and a muscle was jumping in his jaw. Cullen began to nod. "Okay…okay, Booth, she's in Seattle, working with their field office. The Washington serial killer…"

Booth's eyes widened. "You sent her to work on a serial killer case?!"

"They discovered a mass dumping of victims," Cullen stammered, failing to maintain any authority in his tone. "She was to be identifying the remains."

Without another word, Booth turned and left Cullen's office, then the Hoover building; he got in his car and drove until he was outside the airport.

~(B*B)~

Hours later, just as the sun had begun to set, it was a soft rapping on the door of Brennan's hotel room. She swung it open to see Perotta standing there.

"They've cleared the lab," the other woman informed her. "Ready to start prep?"

"Prep?" Brennan repeated.

"Fitting the tracking device. Concealing weapons. All that fun stuff."

Brennan nodded, unsmiling. She walked steadily into her hotel room, turning her back to Perotta and, feeling foolish, tucked the tiny pig, smurf, and the folded up photo into the inside pocket of her coat.

"Ready."

_A/N: Okay. So….I think it's probably pretty clear that the next chapter or two is going to be crucial. But this one was a big deal, too….so I can't wait to hear what you thought, especially about Booth's confrontation with Cullen, his realization that Bren was living in apartment, and, of course, Brennan's e-mail to Angela._

_Oh, and just a note, I have the timing of Booth's flight and the time difference thing all worked out in my head, but it's a little hard to convey hour by hour, so I'll make that all clear next chapter._

_Thanks for reading, and review for quick updates!_


	10. Iris

_A/N: Hey, everyone. I'm really sorry for the delay, but real life has been packed for the past week. And this chapter contains the first scene I ever envisioned, the first one I wrote, when I came up with this story. And I wanted to review everything. To make any additions and changes. Because this is a big one…_

_Your reviews make my day. Please keep them coming. And enjoy._

_**Chapter Ten**_

_Iris_

_And I´d give up forever to touch you  
´Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You´re the closest to heaven that I´ll ever be  
And I don´t wanna go home right now_

And all I can taste in this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
And sooner or later it´s over  
I just don´t wanna miss you tonight

_~Goo Goo Dolls_

After Booth tore out on a mission, leaving her standing alone in his own apartment, Angela took a moment to collect herself before heading outside, where Hodgins was waiting in the car.

"I saw G-man take off," Hodgins commented. "That's good."

Angela nodded once, then promptly dissolved into tears once again. She'd cried for a good half hour after reading the e-mail before she was finally able to compose herself and realize what she had to do: alert Booth.

"Baby…" Hodgins pulled his fiancée as close to him as the seats in the car allowed. "She's going to be alright. It's _Booth._ He'll save her."

Angela shook her head vigorously, sending tears flying. "What if he's too late this time, Jack?"

Jack swallowed. This was the question that hung between them, pulsing with fear. Willing himself to sound certain, to reassure Angela, he repeated himself, "It's _Booth_. He wouldn't let anything happen to Brennan."

Angela drew back to look at him, her eyes wide and wet. "But…you said when you two were buried…you said Bren held on because she..she just _knew_ Booth was coming, that he'd save her. This time…she has no idea." Hodgins nodded, silently. "What if she doesn't hold on until he can get there?"

~(B*B)~

Booth couldn't sit still. He had a ticket to Seattle clutched in his hand. He'd been able to get a flight out at 6:30, and was supposed to land in Seattle around midnight, his time…nine p.m. in Washington state.

He had no way of knowing what kind of situation he'd be walking into. He didn't know if he'd arrive in time.

Hence the fact that he was sitting in the middle of an airport, with no luggage or a concrete plan, and unable to stop shaking.

He ran a trembling hand over his face, then reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the folded, crumpled e-mail he'd never given back to Angela.

Booth's eyes moved over the words yet again. He didn't know what kind of fight she'd had with Angela (something about talking to Sweets?). He didn't know what she meant when she said Angela had saved her twice…he hadn't even known they'd been friends since they were sixteen.

But he didn't ruminate on any of that. Instead, he read her words about home, again and again. He thought about the past month, when he'd been away from home. What he'd been missing, besides Parker, was Bones. Apparently, you could be homesick for a person, not only a place.

"C'mon, Bones," he whispered, tracing his thumb over her name on the e-mail. "Just wait for me."

As soon as the words left his mouth, a voice crackled over the speaker, calling him to board.

~(B*B)~

"You ready?" Perotta asked.

Brennan started, then turned to look at her. She'd been fitted with the tracking device in her left ear, and was now armed with two carefully concealed weapons. She drew a breath, and repeated, in a tone of almost wonderment, "Am I ready…."

Completing misreading her tone and expression, Perotta tilted her head and said seriously, "Dr. Brennan, if you're not sure about this…we don't have to do this."

"I'm sure," Brennan replied immediately. She glanced at the clock; it was nearly 8:30. "Let's go."

~(B*B)~

It was the longest flight of Booth's life, even thought it wasn't even six hours long. He held the tattered e-mail in his lap, clutching it with both hands, a reminder he didn't need.

He never relaxed; instead, Booth sat straight and stiff in his seat, methodically reminding himself to take calm, level breaths, even while fear coiled like a cobra, tight around his lungs.

His heart began to thump heavily in his chest at the first announcement that the landing was approaching. Booth leaned forward as though to prepare himself to get off the plane immediately. His thighs began to bounce spasmodically, earning him several annoyed glances that Booth didn't see.

Soon, he was bursting out of the terminal and moving as swiftly as he could through the airport. He didn't have much of a plan; just the location of the Seattle field office and the name of the agent who was the head on the case.

Booth grabbed a cab outside the airport and arrived at the field office. Before he spoke to any agents, he directed himself toward the lab, hoping that by some miracle, he'd find her there, perfectly alright.

The lab, though was deserted. It was, after all, nearly ten. The offices were mostly empty as well, including the one with the name Special Agent Lucas Wellman on the door. After about ten minutes, though, he found the office of the Seattle field office Special Agent in Charge, William Hogan, man about ten years older than Booth who oversaw the field office.

"Sir, I'm Special Agent Booth from DC…" he began, by way of introduction.

"Oh, yes," The man replied. "Deputy Director Cullen called to tell me to expect you fairly late." This was news to Booth.

"I need to speak to Agent Wellman," Booth said swiftly. "I understand he's been working with my partner."

"Well, I'm afraid Agent Wellman is doing field work this evening, Agent Booth."

Just like that, Booth's stomach twisted. Out in the field, at this hour, on a serial killer case…they weren't questioning people. They were going after the guy.

The question that had been tormenting him the entire flight, the agonizing uncertainty of what exactly had prompted Brennan's e-mail…he almost had the answer.

Then, by some miracle, Hogan continued, "But I'm fairly certain your partner and Agent Perotta weren't to be a part of tonight's operation…small scale, not too many involved."

His stomach loosening slightly, Booth blinked up at him. "Do you have any idea where I could find Dr. Brennan? It's…it's very important that I see her."

Agent Hogan seemed perplexed at the urgency in Booth's tone, the panic brimming over in his eyes. But Hogan just nodded, "I can give you the name of the hotel where she's staying. It's just down the street. If you have any problems, I'll give you my number, you can give me a call…"

That's how, at 10:15, Booth was standing at the front desk of a Holiday Inn, flashing his badges and insisting he be given a room number.

The burning need to find her, that single-minded determination only began to fade when the elevator opened on her floor. Booth halted outside of it, suddenly seized with a different type of fear.

What the hell would he say to her? How did he explain this? What would _she_ say, when she first saw him? She thought he was dead.

This, having to do this with _her, _was never something he'd anticipated.

He took his time walking down the hallway and stopping outside her room. Gathering himself, Booth inhaled deeply, cleansing…and knocked.

Nothing happened.

Booth knocked again, straining his ears for the sound of movement.

Nothing.

Just like that, the panic began to return. He moved to the room two doors down, Perotta's, which he'd asked for just in case. He pounded on it, to no results.

Booth felt a chill crawl down the length of his spine. What if Hogan had been wrong? Because if he was right, after all, what had been the event to prompt Brennan's goodbye to Angela?

Booth whipped out his phone and dialed the number Hogan had given him. His tone crisp, he began with "This is Booth. She isn't at the hotel. Perotta, either… Is there another place I could find her?" He paused, breathing hard, then added, "Sir?"

Now the man definitely sounded bewildered by the badly concealed panic woven through Booth's tone. "Agent Booth, I have no way of knowing where they might be spending their evening, but I do understand that Agent Wellman and his team had arranged to meet Agent Perotta at our lab when his own operation was complete, to go over new details. Dr. Brennan might accompany her there."

"When will that be?"

"No way of knowing." Hogan hesitated. "Is everything alright, Agent Booth?"

Booth closed his eyes, then started back to the elevator. "Everything's fine, sir, I just..need to see my partner. To…to tell her something." Booth swallowed, his throat dry. "Thanks for your help, I'm sorry to bother you."

Hanging up, Booth stepped into the lobby, heading once again for the field office, trying to take comfort in the fact that Brennan wasn't part of whatever operation was occurring that night.

Still, something in his gut wouldn't allow him to relax, and the thick knot of terror remained.

There was nothing he could do but wait.

~(B*B)~

"Keep walking. Don't look so alert…be distracted. And stick to the walking paths, why would a woman by herself be wandering around under all those trees?"

Perotta had kept a running commentary going in her ear, where a small audio speaker had been place. There was a mic clipped on the inside of Brennan's shirt, but she rarely spoke into it.

It was 10:30. She'd been wandering the park aimlessly for about an hour and a half, Perotta following subtly, out of sight. She'd stopped to sit on benches, staring off into space for a good while, before standing up and walking slowly away, doing everything to convey the impression that she was distracted by something, maybe had come to the park to gather her thoughts, or to get away from something.

It wasn't a difficult portrayal.

During these long stretches, she tuned out Perotta and turned her thoughts to Booth. Moments flitted through her memory, some that had always been significant to her (like Jasper, her Christmas tree, or the way they'd smiled at each other after he pulled her from the sand) and others only striking her now (him flying to New Orleans for her, singing her father's favorite song in the diner, throwing clay at each other at ceramics class).

She thought about getting back from Guatemala, three years ago, when he'd "rescued" her and pulled her into field work. She'd thought, at the close of that case, that their newfound partnership would change things for her career.

It turned out to change her entire life.

Now, wandering through this park, the inky black sky enveloping her in darkness, she was exhausted and hollow and hurting. She wanted it to end. She was _here_ because she wanted it to end.

But for the first time, with every memory she had of him turning over in her mind, Brennan admitted to herself that it was worth it.

_He _had been worth it.

Perotta was hissing instructions into her ear. "…no one after about eleven, so we should be able to head in by then, another half hour, maybe…"

Brennan reached up and flicked the audio speaker off, then did the same to her mic. Instantly, silence overwhelmed her.

Picking up her pace, Brennan moved from the walking path and moved forward, toward the woodsy area that bordered the trails, the one opposite where Perotta was hiding.

~(B*B)~

Perotta crouched low in the underbrush. The walking trail at Agape Park was bordered by woods on both sides, providing a convenient location for her to observe, out of sight.

As long as Brennan stuck to the paths (which was also convenient…she couldn't think of any reason why any of their victims would have been wandering the woods), everything would be fine.

Perotta watched as Brennan slowed slightly, then came to a stop. Perotta tensed instantly. "What is it?" She whispered into the mic. "Did you hear something? See him?"

Without answering, Brennan turned, and began to speed walk into the woods opposite Perotta.

"What the hell are you doing?" Perotta half stood, torn. She didn't know if Brennan was just straying from the plan or if she'd actually spotted something. "Dr. Brennan?! Dr. Brennan, what…"

There was no answer. Perotta hesitated, unsure about hurling herself into the open when she wasn't sure what was happening.

"Dr. Brennan?" She tried again, into the mic, anticipating the lack of response.

There was a shaking in her jeans pocket. Perotta reached down and pulled out her cell phone, the one she'd been using for nothing but contacting Agent Wellman and Deputy Director Cullen for the past week.

There was a text there, from Lucas.

_Headed back to lab. No luck in Tryon. Dr.B may have been right .Meet us there to reassess. _

Perotta groaned inwardly, feeling a flash of annoyance.

Then, she stood up, drawing her gun, and headed off after the anthropologist who, for some reason, seemed to have given her the slip.

~(B*B)~

Booth was in the lab for almost half an hour before a small group of agents entered.

Before they could even register his presence, Booth stood and addressed the man at the front. "You Agent Wellman?"

Wellman's eyes narrowed. "Yes. Who the hell are you?"

Booth flashed his badge. "Special Agent Booth, DC. I'm looking for my partner, and I understand she's been working with you on this serial killer case."

His eyebrows drew together. "What? Your partner's Payton?"

"No, Brennan. Where the hell is she?"

Wellman's forehead furrowed even deeper. "Payton said…Dr. Brennan's partner died."

"Not dead, just an undercover op." Booth replied brusquely, his patience long gone. "Where the hell is my Bones?" At Wellman's bewildered look, Booth, flushing slightly, corrected himself. "I mean my partner. Where's my partner?"

Shaking his head, Wellman told him, "No idea. She wasn't working with us tonight…but I'd guess she's at her hotel."

"No, she _isn't_," Booth retorted, his voice raising in volume, as though Wellman should have known this. His hands clenched involuntarily into fists at his side, his nails digging into the skin of his palm. "I checked."

Wellman exchanged a glance with one of the other agents, quite obviously fearing for Booth's sanity. "Perotta is supposed to be meeting us here…I'm sure she'll bring Dr. Brennan with her." He paused, then added, "There wasn't any work for the case they were doing, so I'm sure your partner's perfectly alright."

Booth deflated, realizing that, once again, he could only wait. He mumbled something noncommittal as a poor excuse for a reply, wishing he could believe Wellman's final statement, but something in his gut insisted that something was wrong.

Of course, after that e-mail, he wouldn't accept that she was safe until he had Bones wrapped in his arms.

~(B*B)~

After a good twenty minutes of weaving around off the path, Brennan emerged at a completely different section of the park, then flipped back on the audio device nestled in her right ear. This time, there was silence.

She'd lost Perotta.

Brennan's eyes darted around the park, deserted. She'd been wandering for two hours now. She didn't understand.

She was _right_; that much Brennan knew. But nothing had happened.

They'd assumed a woman cutting through the park at night, or even just walking around it deep in thought, would stick to the walking paths, or the open areas near the lake. She'd covered all those.

What were they missing?

Brennan glanced up, and noticed the park's exit in the distance; an arched, metal spelling of the name over two brick columns. Surrounded by large, leafy bushes on either side.

It was possible. The victims could have been taken while leaving.

Brennan began to move toward it.

~(B*B)~

For half an hour, Perotta searched the wooded area of the woods, never seeing a sign of the anthropologist.

She was tired. Her feet hurt. And she was more than a little nervous, her hand clutching her gun and tightening instinctively at any little noise.

Lucas was back at the lab by now. They were supposed to be there.

This whole idea was seeming more and more foolish.

She was on the verge of giving up, of writing Dr. Brennan off as impossible to understand, returning to the lab to check the tracking device and enlist the help of the others, when it happened.

Off in the distance, cracking through the silence of the night, was a single gunshot.

~(B*B)~

Brennan knew he was behind her about five seconds before he grabbed her arm.

She was about ten feet from the exit of the park, and one hand grabbed her arm, the other trying to wrap around her mouth, presumably to press the chloroform soaked rag against her mouth.

But it turned out that it didn't matter why she was there, or what she'd hoped would happen. Instinct was instinct, and Brennan's had been developed long ago. As soon as he hand connected with her arm, she lifted her foot and kicked backward, against his shins. This surprised him enough that Brennan was able to twist herself free, hooking a foot underneath his impaired legs to trip him.

As he went down, the killer, who in the darkness Brennan could only determine was a tall, lean man, caught her ankle and sent her sprawling.

She grabbed desperately for the gun holstered to her side, fingers fumbling with the safety.

She wasn't quite fast enough, and soon the killer was looming over her, knocking her arm away as she fired once, uselessly, into the emptiness. Then he was kneeling on her chest, one arm pinning hers, the other pressing chloroform over her mouth.

Then everything was dissolving.

~(B*B)~

Booth was dying.

He was sitting in a chair at an empty lab station, sick to his stomach, not understanding why Perotta wasn't answering Wellman's continuous phone calls, not understanding what that meant for Bones.

Then at nearly 11:30, Perotta burst into the lab, hysterical. And alone.

"Luke! Lucas…" She ran right up to the other Agent, not noticing Booth. "We went to Agape, we wanted to set our own trap, I'm sorry…"

"Wait…you _what? _By _yourself_?"

"You should have _listened _to her, Lucas! She was _right_, and we didn't want someone else to get killed while you were wasting time in the wrong park."

A wave of dizziness had overtaken Booth, and though he didn't understand much of what was being said, there was enough for him to discern that something had gone very, very wrong.

He stood roughly and approached Perotta, whose eyes instantly widened. Grabbing her arms a little harder than strictly necessary, he asked, in a strangled voice, "Where's Brennan? _What happened to her_?"

Perotta looked like she was in shock. Stammering quietly, she stated, "Y-you're…you're dead…"

He shook his head vigorously. "No, I'm not. Obviously. Now that we've cleared that up, tell me _what the hell happened to my partner!"_

Perotta didn't look shocked anymore; she looked terrified. Her eyes darted to the side, finding Wellman's instead of Booth's. Her voice barely audible, she admitted, "I think he got her."

"You _think_?" Booth hissed through his teeth.

"I…I lost her and…there was a gunshot…I found her gun on the ground, but Dr. Brennnan…she wasn't anywhere."

Booth let go of Perotta's arms abruptly, stumbling backwards like he'd been pushed. A chilling, icy cold moved through him, and he raised violently trembling hands to cover his face.

Wellman and Perotta were talking, arguing maybe. He didn't hear a word, until Perotta said his own name.

"Booth, we…we fixed her with a tracking device. So, we should be able to-"

Booth instantly uncovered his face, pulling himself together. "Pull it up. Tell me where she is."

Moments later, Booth and the others were crowded around a screen, staring at a map.

"Shit…" Wellman and Perotta exchanged a glance.

"What?! What is that…where…where is she?" Booth's voice was nearing hysteria.

"In the mountains…less than a mile from where we found the bodies," Wellman provided quietly.

Booth's stomach pitched forward, the bitter, acidic taste of bile rising in his throat. He bit back the nausea, teeth gritted, then demanded, "I need a chopper to take me there. With a medical team. _Now_."

~(B*B)~

Brennan woke up in the dark.

She was lying on the ground, rocky and barren. Her hands and legs were bound with thick ropes, and her arm was stinging and slick with blood.

She was completely silent for a long moment, listening for breathing or footsteps. Hearing none, Brennan was able to determine that she was alone for now.

At the killing site.

Her eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness, although there wasn't much to see. Taking in her surroundings, Brennan observed a small cave-type area. She could see a sliver of moonlight peeking in through an opening at one end, slightly higher on the cave wall.

She had no way of knowing how long she'd been there, unconscious. She could feel the weight of the second gun, holstered against her lower leg, but thanks to the ropes, she had no way of getting to it.

Brennan could only wait.

She thought, suddenly, of being kidnapped by Kenton, the last time she'd been bound and gagged. She thought of Booth, injured himself (for her, yet again), bursting in and lifting her up, pulling her close. Saving her.

This time, no one was coming.

The minutes passed slowly. Brennan soon lost any sense of time as she lie there, her head pounding, listening for footsteps.

She'd spent the entire evening thinking of Booth, but the next thought Brennan had was not of him, but of Angela. She thought of waking up in the hospital, after those two days in the trunk, to find Angela right there, waiting for her, red-eyed and terrified.

Brennan really, really hoped Angela would be okay. She suddenly wished she'd seen her one more time, to tell her everything she'd written in that e-mail in person.

As time stretched on, Brennan tugged futilely on the ropes on her wrists, the rope chafing and burning against her skin, not loosening at all.

So, after awhile, she stilled, closed her eyes, and waited.

~(B*B)~

Booth stared out the window the chopper, his heart thrumming in time to the whir of the blades.

He was trying not to think about what Wellman and Perotta had told him, waiting on the helicopter. That the killer's victims died of stab wounds. That it was always within six hours, sometimes much sooner.

That Brennan had run off, refused to answer, long before Perotta heard the gunshot.

"This is as close as we can get you," The pilot told him.

Booth nodded, his heart lodged in his throat. They'd told him this. He had a map, and so did the medical team, who were going to follow him at a safe distance.

He would find her. He had to.

~(B*B)~

Brennan didn't know how long it had been, but after all that endless waiting, it all happened fast.

One moment there was nothing. Then that sliver of moonlight grew, and Brennan squinted, noticing two large hands shoving rocks away from the opening.

Then the killer was dropping down through the opening and standing, slightly hunched, above her. He leered down at Brennan; she could see him more clearly now: the graying beard, the small, black eyes, the scar on his chin.

He wasn't much for talking. No elongated psycho speech to explain his 'motives'. He bent in front of her, and Brennan looked away, heart slowing. Then he touched her; cold clammy hands, grasping her hair, then tracing the length of her body. Brennan flinched; she wished he'd just get it over with.

Like he'd read her mind, Brennan heard the clank of metal, and glanced up in time to see light reflecting off the blade of his knife.

Then, he plunged it into her abdomen.

~(B*B)~

Booth was moving so fast he couldn't see the medical team behind him. He had the number of one of the medics plugged into his phone, and was praying to God he wouldn't need them anyway.

It was nearly midnight, and it was hard navigating the rocky, uneven trail in the dark. His legs, leaden, stumbled over the path.

With every step, he prayed, the same thing over and over, running together.

_Please. Please let her be okay please please let her be okay let her be okay…_

He slowed after awhile, sure he was near the sight. He was worried, though, about finding the opening…Wellman had warned him it was some sort of small caved in area, probably mostly covered.

Then, not too far to his left, Booth heard the gunshot.

~(B*B)~

He plunged the knife deep into her abdomen, and white hot, blinding pain seared through Brennan, causing her to cry out.

The killer pulled the knife out, unevenly. The dark cave spun around her, and Brennan had to gasp for air. Brennan squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could pass out. The sharp, metallic taste of blood filled her throat, and Brennan coughed, sending pain shooting from her lungs to her throat.

The killer reached around her and sliced his knife cleanly through the ropes binding her wrists, deliberately grazing her palm, the same hand where she'd sliced her wrist in West Virgina. Then, he sliced the skin of the other hand.

Brennan jerked her hands forward, whimpering quietly.

Then suddenly she realized what had happened; what she could do.

She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, forcing herself to focus, even though her surroundings were swimming in front of her, blood trickling in her throat. She pressed one hand to the wound on her stomach, and it was instantly soaked. She felt numb between her chest and legs.

Then she reached down, maneuvering her jeans from her ankles up, until she clutched the gun in her hand.

She didn't think of the way he'd grabbed her in the park, or the wound in her stomach. But she did think of the victims she'd been examining for the past week.

And as he straightened up, readying for another stab, Brennan aimed between his eyes and pulled the trigger.

He was dead.

Brennan rolled her head to the side, coughing violently, blood spattering on the rock floor.

She was dizzy and her vision was narrowing. Her hands were throbbing painfully, and her legs were numb where the ropes were too tight.

Brennan closed her eyes, leaning her head back, and waited, just once more.

Then, she heard, the sweetest word she knew, the voice that meant she was finally, finally going home.

"Bones!"

~(B*B)~

Booth was running, faster than he'd ever run before, except for maybe that day in the sand quarry.

The echo of the gunshot leading him, he found a gap, with a large rock on the side. Lowering himself in, Booth found himself in a cave, two bodies on the floor.

The first one, the one on the opposite end, was a man, bleeding from the head. Then, he saw Bones. Every organ in his body stopped working of its own accord.

"Bones!" He knelt beside her; she was bleeding from the stomach…badly. Her face was ashen, and there was blood caked on her mouth and chin. Tears stung is his eyes, as he pressed a quivering hand gently to her wound. "Oh, God, Bones…" Raising his other hand, he shakily dialed the medics. Her eyes, which had been fluttering, opened, sought his, and suddenly lit with pure joy.

~(B*B)~

This was how she knew she was dying.

_He_ was there.

Booth was standing in front of her. Touching her, talking softly. Everything just the way he remembered. She couldn't make out the words; it was like they were coming from far away.

She only knew that he was there. And it didn't make any sense. Because Booth was dead, and she'd always firmly believed, never questioning, that after death there was nothing.

But he was _there_.

And Brennan had never been so glad to be wrong.

~(B*B)~

Booth peeled his jacket off and pressed it to the wound, alarmed at how quickly it became stained crimson.

She began to struggle, trying to sit up.

He cupped the hand not wet with her blood against Bones' hair. "Don't try to move, Bones. It's alright, helps coming I promise…" Something wet dripped on his thigh, and only then did Booth realize the tears in his eyes had begun to drip down his face. "I'm here…"

~(B*B)~

Booth was muttering soft, soothing words to Brennan. She couldn't hear anything, but she could make out the sound of his voice, floating through the fog.

And nothing hurt anymore.

He was trying to stop the bleeding. Typical Booth. Even now, when she was so close to dead that she could _see him_, he wouldn't give up on her.

"Booth. Booth…." She repeated his name, needing him to listen, so she could tell him to stop. "Booth, it's alright…just…just leave…it…Booth…"

His name caught in her throat, she was seized with yet another brutal coughing fit.

~(B*B)~

Bones was muttering something, gurgling words that made no sense. It scared him, to see the generally articulate doctor like this.

She began to cough, hard, blood splattering everywhere. Booth's stomach rolled as he gently guided her head to the side. "Hold on, Bones…just hold on another minute…c'mon."

Brennan's hands were searching, and they found his chest. Her palms left bloody splotches on his shirt as they fisted the material, and she was pulling herself up to a sitting position, no matter how much he tried to protest.

Booth reached behind her, pulling the arms of his jacket tight and knotting them, keeping the pressure over the wound.

~(B*B)~

Brennan reached for him, holding tight, assuring that he wouldn't leave her again. She wanted to be closer to him; she pulled herself up, lightheaded and shaky from the effort.

And then Booth did what she'd needed for a month: he reached his arms around her.

She pulled herself closer, nestling against his chest, summoning the last of her rapidly draining strength to cling tightly to him.

The scent of Booth hit her at once; until now, she'd had these only as memories, triggered by a T-shirt or a pillow. And suddenly, it was right there.

Everything around her was fading. Everything but him.

Brennan pressed her face into his shoulder, tears streaming, wetting his shirt. And she waited for him to take her away.

~(B*B)~

Booth finally stopped fighting it. As she curled against him, he held her for all he was worth.

He wasn't an idiot; he knew how much blood there was. He could see the extent of the stab wound in her stomach. He could hear the liquid rattling every time she took a breath.

If, God forbid, Bones didn't make it…he was going to hold her one more time. He was going to make sure she knew he was there.

Suddenly, Booth was wracked with sobs, and he dug his teeth into his bottom lift to keep quiet, tears dripping into her hair.

And he waited for the medics to come and take her away.

_A/N: Okay, guys. This was one of the two most important chapters. And the other one is…well, the next chapter. So far, anyway. Ha. _

_I hope it satisfied. And I hope it's left you wanting more. The reunion happened, yes, but not quite in that "wait, I thought you were dead' way. So hopefully the twist worked._

_I love your reviews. You guys are awesome readers. I'd love to know what you thought, in as much detail as you can give me. _


	11. You Found Me

_A/N: Whew! I'm really sorry to have taken so long with this, but real life has actually been keeping me really busy lately (my last week and a half at home for the summer, lots of work and friends and boyfriend time to cram in). Plus, this chapter was pretty difficult. I've had so much of it in my head for awhile, but it wasn't finished. So I wanted to make sure everything translated. Plus, it was hard to find the best place to cut it off. This is a long one. I wanted to get all this in, because I think it's a big turning point, and there's still a lot of conflict and angst and revelations to happen. And this sets all that up. Won't keep talking any longer, thanks for being patient…hope this was worth it, epic as it is._

_P.S. Chapter title obvoiusly comes from The Fray. Love them. _

_**Chapter Eleven**_

_You Found Me_

_Where were you  
When everything was falling apart?  
All my days  
Were spent by the telephone  
It never rang  
And all I needed was a call  
It never came  
To the corner of First and Amistad_

Lost and insecure  
You found me, you found me  
Lyin' on the floor  
Surrounded, surrounded  
Why'd you have to wait?  
Where were you? Where were you?  
Just a little late  
You found me, you found me

~The Fray

Five hours, twenty-seven minutes, and probably about ten seconds.

That's how long it had been since they'd pulled Brennan from Booth's arms.

He'd known, he really had, that she needed to go to the medics. He knew it was her only chance, the only way to get her help.

But he hadn't wanted to let go.

His arms had felt empty and weightless without her in them, so he'd done the best he could: holding her hand on the way to the helicopter, and the ride to the hospital.

But at the hospital, they'd taken one look at her and ordered someone to go prep an OR. Booth had retained his death grip on her hand until they got to an elevator that would take her downstairs, to be operated on. They told him the operation was the only way to save her.

But he couldn't help the paralyzing fear that nearly brought him to his knees the moment she was out of his sight; he'd spent hours and hours trying to get to her, and it didn't seem right to separate them so quickly.

So he sat. He paced. He stood. He changed positions every few minutes.

He prayed. And sometimes, in the moments of weakness, when he could remember the joy in those blue eyes when they'd first landed on him, the way her tears had stained his shirt, the way she'd reached for him, tried to cling tight even as the strength drained out of her by degrees…in those moments, Booth covered his face and cried.

He'd called Hodgins the moment he was able to form words. Now, he and Angela were on a plane, somewhere between DC and Seattle.

Booth's heart was lodged in his throat. The surgeon, a short, stout black woman with kindness brimming in her eyes when she'd looked at him, had told him it could be a long surgery. Yet ever since they'd taken her away, he'd been staring at the elevators, as though he expected someone to emerge to bring the worst possible news.

He'd been pacing the tiny waiting room. Now, Booth sat. He rubbed his face tired, then bowed his head.

For the past twelve hours, ever since Angela had burst into his apartment with that e-mail, Booth had exhausted himself, he'd been praying so hard. So far, they had all been desperate pleas, begging for her safety.

Now though, he changed his approach.

_You can't take her from me, _he prayed fiercely. _You __can't__. Not yet. Not like this. She's still mine. And this isn't fair. She doesn't deserve this. Punish me. Not her. __Please__._

Terror was clawing at his throat, angry and persistent. He wanted to scream. He wanted to drive his fist into the solid wall of the hospital corridor, again and again, until it was the only thing he could feel.

Booth stared down at the red stains on his hand. Blood. Bones' blood. It made him feel sick.

He had never wanted to be sitting here.

The elevators slid open, and the surgeon, whose name he'd forgotten, was standing there, coming toward him. Booth's lungs stopped working on their own accord, and in the surgeon's long walk down the hallway, he had to remind himself to breathe.

The surgeon took one look at the tortured, petrified look etched on Booth's face and informed him quickly, "Surgery went well." She watched him literally sag with the weight of his relief, then added, "She's not quite out of the woods, yet, though. There was extensive damage to her stomach, as well as the lungs. She had a collapsed lung, but we were able to repair it. We're going to keep her intubated for at least the next few hours until we're certain she can breathe on her own. She lost a good bit of blood, and we had to remove her spleen, as well as perform extensive repairs to the abdomen. But we've moved her into a private room in recovery…now we just have to wait for her to wake up."

"Can…can I…" Booth stopped abruptly. If he kept talking, he was pretty sure he would burst into tears, and cry like a four year old in front of this stranger.

The woman smiled kindly at him, "Yes, you can see her. She's in 423…you can go on up whenever you're ready."

Booth nodded for too long. His face was wet. "Th-thank you."

She patted his arm. "We'll be by to check on her."

Booth's legs barely worked enough for him to make it to an elevator, then down the hall to the correct room.

She was lying in the hospital bed, looking small and fragile. Her palms were lightly bandaged, and there was a bandage on one of her arms…these were the only visible signs of damage, besides the wires and IVs and the frightening tube in her throat.

Booth pulled one of the hard backed chairs as close to her bed as he could, gently taking one of her bandaged hands in his, lightly stroking the tips of her fingers.

"Bones," he croaked out, his tone splintering. "Bones, I'm so, so sorry…" He reached up, stroking her hair gently, wishing he could see those eyes, wishing she could hear him. "I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again."

~(B*B)~

Angela had been rendered silent from the moment Booth's phone call had come, at nearly four in the morning their time, when Hodgins had been forced to wake her up and tell her what happened.

There was no hysterical sobbing, like there had been in the hours after Brennan's e-mail had come through. It was as though she was beyond tears.

She had sat beside him on the plane, pale and trembling and utterly silent. It was nearly nine a.m. when they arrived in Seattle. Angela remained quiet as they collected their luggage, including some things they had gone to pack for Booth, got a cab, and arrived at the hospital.

A receptionist directed them to the proper room, and as they tentatively entered, Hodgins first looked at Booth, his head bent low on Brennan's bed, visibly shaking, his hand in hers. But Angela's gaze zeroed in directly on her best friend, and for the first time, her eyes welled with tears, her mouth contorting.

"Hey man," Hodgins said in a hushed voice.

Booth raised his head, red eyes looking startled to see them. "Oh…hi." He straightened. "What time is it?"

"9:30 here." He laced his fingers with Angela's; hers remained limp in his grasp. "How's she doing?"

Booth mechanically recited the little information he'd gotten from the surgeon. Hodgins asked a few questions, which Booth answered the best he could.

Hodgins was in the process of pulling two chairs forward, on the opposite side of the bed from Booth's, when Angela abruptly broke her silence for the first time in more than seven hours.

"I…I can't…," she said in a strangled voice, then turned and sped out of the room.

Bewildered, Hodgins gaped after her, then shot an apologetic look at Booth before following his fiancée.

Angela was halfway down the hallway when he caught up to her. "Angie…baby, what…?"

She turned, meeting his eyes, her face stricken. "I have to go, I…I can't do this, Jack, I…I just can't." Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. "I can't do it anymore, not again…"

His tone gentle, Hodgins touched Angela's arms, rubbing softly. "Hey…come on, now. You can do this. You've been strong for her, through all this. You can do one more thing."

Angela shook her head rapidly, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. "But what if…what if this time…" She choked on a sob. "What if this time she doesn't make it, Jack?" She swallowed hard, then stepped away from his grasp. "_No_. I _can't_, Jack, I can't just sit here and…watch her…watch her…" Her voice died in her throat.

"If she dies…" Hodgins' heart constricted as his words caused Angela to visibly flinch. "If she dies, it will be _horrible_. No question. But if she dies and you aren't here…I think that will be even worse." Angela looked away, and Hodgins tipped her chin up so she was looking at him. "Okay?"

She nodded, throat too tight to speak. Then, she leaned against him, crying quietly, and Jack wrapped her in an embrace as long as she needed.

Then he took her hand, and this time she gripped his tight, and they walked back down to Brennan's hospital room.

~(B*B)~

After another half hour, the three of them holding silently vigil around Brennan's bed, Hodgins tentatively broke the silence, "Booth, man…you should change clothes." He nudged a duffel bag at his feet. "We brought you some stuff. And…you should wash your hands." His eyes flitted to the hand that wasn't clutching Brennan's, the one crimson with blood.

Booth's eyes landed on Hodgins briefly and then returned to Brennan. "I shouldn't…I shouldn't leave her."

"We're right here," Angela spoke up, her voice hoarse from lack of use. "We'll come get you." She looked at the FBI agent, barely able to hold himself up, ragged with exhaustion. "Get some food, you look like crap."

He stared at Brennan, still obviously reluctant. He absently brushed some hair back from her forehead, a gesture that somehow tore at Angela's heart.

"Booth," she told him seriously. "I'll call you. If anything happens." Angela waited until his eyes met hers. "I can take care of her, too. Promise."

After a long moment, Booth nodded, once. Then he stood, looking as though it took a supreme effort, and trudged out of the room. "I won't be long."

He'd been gone exactly seven minutes and sixteen seconds when it happened.

Brennan began to stir.

~(B*B)~

There was something sitting on her chest. Something filling her throat. She couldn't breathe.

Everything hurt. Her stomach was on fire. Her hands, even, were throbbing.

Her eyes snapped open, and everything was blurred. Then, her vision slowly, cleared, and Brennan saw an unfamiliar ceiling.

Things began to come slowly into focus. An IV. Beeping monitors. Wires. She was in a hospital room. Angela and Hodgins, bent over her, saying her name. Smiling.

But…

Booth's arms had been around her. She'd smelled him, touched him.

He'd been there.

But now she was in a hospital room.

Alive.

Without him, again.

"No…no…" She began to whimper, shaking her head violently, but she couldn't talk. "Booth….no, no, no…"

It didn't matter how much she repeated it, nothing came out. She was choking, gasping. Sobs built in her chest, but _something_ was blocking them, and everything hurt. One of her heavily bandaged hands found her throat, feeling the tube there, and she attempted to get a grip, trying to rip it out, to stop breathing. Anything to bring him back.

~(B*B)~

Hodgins and Angela bent over Brennan, expectant, hopeful. She was moaning quietly, stirring as much as she was able. And then, her eyes flew open, darting around, taking in her surroundings.

Then, they promptly widened with horror.

She began to choke against the tube, tears streaming as she shook her head vigorously. Angela touched her arm, began to speak, but Brennan jerked away.

"Bren, sweetie, it's alright…sweetie, look at me..don't try to talk…"

Brennan didn't show any signs of hearing her; she was shaking violently, pulling her arms continuously from Angela's hold, trying to get to the tube, moaning against it the whole time, desperate, trying to speak.

Hosgins pressed the call button on the wall, several times, and soon a nurse poked her head in, saw what was happening, and instantly called for two orderlies.

The nurse gently guided Angela out of the way, and the orderlies took hold of Brennan's arms, trying to talk to her, but she continued to shake her head viciously, and she began to thrash, flailing to escape their hold.

Just before an orderly pressed a syringe into Brennan's arm, to sedate her, her eyes found Angela's and held them. Brennan's gaze was pleading, shattered, and heart breaking.

Then, even when her eyes fluttered closed and Brennan slumped, submissive, back onto the bed, Angela stood, rigid. Because in that instant, Angela had understood exactly what Brennan was thinking.

She hadn't wanted to wake up in a hospital. She hadn't wanted to wake up at all.

~(B*B)~

Seconds after Brennan had slipped once again away from consciousness, Booth burst into the room, shoving through the orderlies and nurses, who were leaving. His eyes were wild. "What happened?!"

Angela hadn't even heard Hodgins call him.

Booth jerked his gaze from Brennan, pinning it on Hodgins. "You said to come now. What happened?"

Hodgins held up his hands, an ineffectual calming gesture. "It's good. She woke up, for a minute."

Booth looked so crestfallen it made Hodgins wish he'd just lied. "She…I should have been here…"

"It's okay," Hodgins assured him quickly. "I don't think she really knew what was going on." Angela looked away; she knew that was wrong. "But she was trying to pull out the breathing tube, freaking out a little, so they had to sedate her." Booth's eyes widened, but before he could interrupt, Hodgins hastily finished, "They said it's a good sign, her trying to fight the intubation. They're going to send the doctor back here in a few minutes to see if she can breathe on her own if they remove it."

Relieved, Booth sank into his chair, instantly placing his hand back over Brennan's. After a moment, he looked at Angela. "If…it all that's so good, Ange…why do you have that look on your face?"

"She…" Angela stopped talking, swallowed, then started again. It didn't even occur to her to lie. "She didn't freak out because of the intubation. She didn't…she didn't want to wake up."

Hodgins glanced at Booth. The color had drained from his face, pain stripped through it. Hastily, Hodgins protested, "You don't know that, Ange. You can't possibly…"

"I _do_," Angela retorted heatedly. "She looked right at me. You saw her, Jack, she kept shaking her head, and…and crying…she knew what was happening."

Booth pressed his lips tight together, staring down at Brennan, his thumb gently caressing her limp fingers.

He didn't say anything, but he realized something. When he'd come running into the cave, she hadn't seemed at all surprised or shocked. She hadn't questioned his presence. And at the time, he'd been too scared to register.

Had she just been too out of it? Too close to passing out?

Or had something else been going on?

He would ask her. When she woke up, when she was alright…he would ask.

~(B*B)~

She'd been breathing on her own for half an hour. When the surgeon who'd taken the tube out had left, she'd said Brennan should wake up at any time.

And this time, Booth would be here. He was sitting in his chair with his elbows on the bed, leaning forward, hand still clasped gently over Brennan's, his eyes trained on her face.

Angela was sitting across from him, also watching her best friend closely. Hodgins was drifting off periodically, never for more than a few minutes at a time. His head had just drooped low onto his chest when Booth murmured, "I can't believe this is happening…"

Angela looked up, startled. Booth's eyes hadn't moved, so Angela wasn't sure that he was addressing her or just himself. She waited.

Continuing, Booth said, "I was just trying to protect her, to…to save her."

For a moment, Angela was confused. Then, with a jolt, she realized he was talking about the shooting, standing up in front a bullet, the bullet meant for Brennan. The one that started all of this.

His voice cracked. "I couldn't…I _can't_ live without her, Angela."

"I know," Angela answered quietly. "She's the same way…that's _why_ this is happening."

Booth rubbed a fist against his eyes. "I should've just called. I never even thought…"

"She'll be okay," Angela interrupted firmly. "They said she'll be fine. And you'll tell her what happened and…it'll be hard but…in a couple weeks, a month maybe…everything will be fine again."

Booth looked away from Brennan for the first time, shooting Angela a hollow smile.

They both knew she was lying.

Everything had changed.

~(B*B)~

Brennan could hear voices.

She couldn't be more specific than that. She couldn't identify the words or even the speakers, but she heard them.

Her head felt heavy. The tube was out of her throat, she thought, and she drew an experimental breath.

Then she opened her eyes.

The dull, nondescript ceiling was still there. So was the beeping of the monitors. She felt bandages. Someone was holding her hand.

A hospital.

Brennan's eyes welled with tears.

He had been _right there_.

It was her own stupid fault; she'd shot the serial killer. She should've just let him finish.

The tracking device. She'd forgotten. Or at least thought she was close enough that it wouldn't matter.

"She's awake!" This time the voice, Angela's, was clear. "Sweetie, can you hear me?"

Brennan screwed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry. How was she going to explain to Angela what had happened in that cave, when she'd been dying? How could she explain that, once again, she hadn't wanted to be saved?

"Bones…"

Her heart stilled.

That was his voice, just as she'd heard it earlier, so close she could feel his breath on her forehead.

"Bones, look at me."

Again. Her heart physically ached, feeling as though it could burst, if such a thing was scientifically possible.

Her head was foggy. They had her medicated. She was imagining things. Like his hand on her forehead, smoothing back strands of her hair.

Just Angela. It was Angela, and her mind was altering it, because of the drugs.

She slowly opened her eyes, to prove it.

Booth was staring down at her.

The room tilted, spun, then righted itself.

Warm, familiar brown eyes gazed down at her. They were wet and tired and frightened, but most of all they were _his_.

It wasn't fair. That she could see him so clearly, fool herself into thinking he was with her, when soon he'd just be ripped away again.

"No," she whimpered quietly. "No, please don't do this, please…just leave me alone…"

~(B*B)~

If it were possible, Booth would have bet money on the fact that his heart was crumbling in his chest.

Bones' voice was like he'd never heard it: fragile and broken, desperate and pleading. Tears leaked slowly from her eyes, which were raw and anguished. Looking into them, Booth could clearly see everything she'd endured over the past month, trapped there.

Brennan wrenched her hand away from his grasp, at the same time she turned her head, flinching from his touch.

"Don't do this to me," she whispered pleadingly. "Please just go…"

"Bones," he whispered, his voice a gravelly, rough mess. "Bones, you have to listen to me. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere…"

She shook her head. "You aren't real, the painkillers are altering my ability to, to perceive…they affect my central and peripheral nervous systems, and…you aren't here, and you're going to be gone…"

Tears spilled down his face. "I'm not. I'm alive Bones, look at me, I'm right here…"

~(B*B)~

"No…" The word came out as a long, low keening note. She was coming apart at the seams, crying hard (sending pain shooting through her midriff with every shuddering breath) and arguing with a morphine induced vision.

Because her senses were failing her, fooling her. She could touch him and smell him and hear him and fucking _see_ him. But soon he'd be gone, leaving her alone again, with only the memories, and it just plain hurt too damn much.

"Please, Booth…." She used his name by mistake; Angela and Hodgins were hovering in the background, in reality, and they must have been thinking she was clinically insane. Talking to herself was bad enough, talking to someone who wasn't there, who couldn't be, was worse. "Please don't do this to me again…"

"Bones," Through her tears, she saw that he was crying, too. And she could hear the urgency in his tone. "Bones, just listen. I'm _here_. I'm not dead, I never was, I'm so sorry…"

For the first time, Brennan stopped fighting him. She stilled. Because he was becoming clearer rather than fading away, and he was looking so guilty, apologizing for something, and none of that made sense.

~(B*B)~

Angela's throat was thick with tears, watching the two of them. She and Hodgins were hovering near the door; she wanted to leave them to what was obviously an intensely private moment –both of them crying, Booth desperately trying to make her understand, Brennan unwilling to let herself believe it –but felt that she may be the reassurance Brennan needed, the connection to reality.

Angela stepped forward, "Sweetie it's true. Just listen to him, alright?"

Brennan glanced from Angela back to Booth, staring at him as though he may dissolve in front of her if she so much as took a breath.

Her voice impossibly weak, Brennan said, "What? I, I, I don't…I don't understand."

Booth swiped his sleeve under his eyes. "Bones, there was a guy, a criminal…I drove him underground, like six years ago, and when I got shot Cullen decided to fake my death, put me in a safehouse until the guy was lured out. But there was a list, of people to be informed, and you were on it, you _were_, but Cullen thought that-"

"Angela?"

Brennan's voice, slightly panicked, stopped Angela, who had been subtly easing out of the room, along with Jack. "Yeah, Sweetie?"

Brennan dragged an uncomprehending gaze from Booth and landed on Angela. "Is it…is that true?"

"Yeah, Bren. It is. Really."

Brennan's eyes flew back to Booth's face, staring at him hard. She stammered, her voice unsteady, "So none of it…it wasn't real?"

Booth reached up to touch her, lifting her chin with his thumb and absently caressing. This time, she didn't shake him off. "No, Bones. It wasn't real."

~(B*B)~

Brennan's head was spinning. She felt trapped, pulled between two realities. At any moment, she expected to wake up. She'd read things about coma dreams being extremely vivid, although without much scientific backing.

But Angela was confirming it, and Booth was still there, solid.

It wasn't real.

_None _of it was real.

The past month sped through her memory.

She'd cried uncontrollably, unable to even pull herself up from the floor of her apartment, for _hours_ after Angela had told her he'd died.

And it hadn't been real.

She'd fallen to the ground at the funeral, losing control, in front of her colleagues, friends, and strangers.

And it hadn't been real.

She'd moved into his apartment, surrounded herself with his photos, buried herself in his smell, worn his shirts, played his voicemail machine. She'd surrounded herself in spite of the pain it provoked, because the possibility of losing even more of him hurt even more.

And it hadn't been real.

She'd deliberately left her helmet unfastened while rappelling down a mountain, given herself a concussion because the real world was too hard to deal with when Booth wasn't there. She'd slid a knife across her hand, because she'd so desperately needed a pain she could understand, rather than the all-consuming, illogical ache of his absence.

And it hadn't been real.

She'd talked to a gravestone, something she'd never believed in, because she knew he'd want her to. She'd broken down in front of her father. Had a fight with her best friend.

And it hadn't been real.

She'd agreed to help with this serial case and volunteered herself as bait, _wishing_ to be killed in the midst of it, rather than keep living without him, because that wasn't a world she could accept.

And it_ hadn't been real._

Angela and Hodgins had slipped out of the hospital room, leaving her alone with Booth.

Booth smiled tremulously at her, their eyes locked, pulling her in with that magnetic gaze. It was reminiscent of hundreds of moments they'd had together...moments Brennan had been sure she'd never have again.

In the past month, Brennan had lost herself. The foundations of herself, her rationality, her independence, her ability to cope…all of it had fallen away, easily. She'd become weak, and been unable to disguise it.

And the whole time, Booth had been _alive_. Hiding somewhere, waiting on some criminal to emerge. Just waiting. Perfectly alright. While she'd been visiting an empty grave, putting herself in danger, living in his apartment…he'd been out there, a phone call away. A phone call he hadn't made, had thought someone else had.

His apartment…he would have been there. Where she'd left clothes, shoes, plenty of evidence of the fact that she'd been living there. The photos everywhere. He'd have seen them. He'd rushed to Seattle, to save her….because Angela had told him about the e-mail. Maybe he'd read it.

Now, for the second time in the past month, the world had fallen out from beneath her. And _everything_, in an instant, had changed. Forced her to reevaluate everything she thought she knew. And Booth was _right there_, waiting for her to react, waiting for her to move forward.

Staring into his warm brown eyes, so familiar it ached, Brennan felt two competing urges, equally strong.

The first was to throw herself into his arms, to hold fast to him until she was sure he was real.

The second was to hit him as hard as she possibly could, to demand to know how he could do this to her.

Brennan bit her lip; Booth continued to stare at her, silently, as though he, too, was waiting for her decision.

She was suddenly perilously close to tears, even though she'd only stopped crying moments before. And it was this realization was what made her decision.

She had been weak enough. Everyone knew. They'd watched her, for a month, fall to pieces.

And now, Booth, too, knew how weak she had been.

And it hadn't been real.

"Get out." Her voice came out startlingly quiet, and rough around the edges. It wasn't a voice she recognized.

Booth looked first startled, then hurt. Brennan curled the tips of her fingers against the sheets, to stop herself from reaching for him.

~(B*B)~

"Bones?"

It came out like a question, and that wasn't really how Booth intended it. It was supposed to be a beginning to something, a protest maybe, or an explanation. An apology.

She wouldn't look at him. He could see the glittering of trapped tears in her eyes, clinging to her eyelashes but not falling, not anymore.

"I mean it Booth, just…just go," she ground out through clenched teeth.

He drew back slightly, not understanding. "Bones, I'm so sorry, believe me, I never-"

"Get _out_," Brennan repeated, more emphatic, her pitch heightening. "This whole time….you never…" she stopped abruptly, the beginnings of those sentences enough. "Just go."

Booth swallowed against the fist sized lump in his throat, and nodded. He stood, unsteady on his feet, and stumbled toward the door to the hospital room.

A part of him had expected this. He didn't blame her.

But he wanted to tell her that though he couldn't even imagine what it would be like to spend a month the way she had, he at least understood it. Because he knew how he felt, every single time he'd come close to losing her; how he'd felt for the past twenty-four hours.

Terrified. Lost. Broken. Empty.

Like half of a whole.

~(B*B)~

When Booth finally listened to her and walked heavily out the door, Brennan caught the inside of her cheek between her cheek, physically forcing herself not to call out after him, to make him come back, and tell him he better never leave her sight again no matter what she said.

She felt shaky and panicked as soon as the door clicked behind him, as though the last ten minutes had all been imagined.

Brennan shook her head, scolding herself. He was alive; he always had been. There was no need for any of this.

Predictably, Angela swept into the hospital room half a minute after Booth left.

Angela didn't come to close, standing instead at the foot of the bed, as if she wasn't sure of her own welcome.

Brennan was finding it hard to look her best friend in the eye. She thought of the e-mail she'd sent, and her cheeks flamed. Angela, more than anyone, had been privy to every weak, _melodramatic _moment she'd had through this whole thing.

"Are you okay, Sweetie?" Angela intoned quietly. Brennan thought, fleetingly, of the morning after Booth's funeral, when Angela had came in to talk to her. Brennan remembered thinking that Angela was speaking to her in that 'sickbed' tone, as if she was visiting her hospital bedside.

And now here they were, a month later, with Angela at Brennan's actual hospital bedside. Because she'd gone looking for a way to die.

This was how far she'd fallen.

"Bren?" Angela repeated, taking a few steps closer. "You okay?"

Brennan straightened slightly. "As well as can be expected. The pain's manageable, and I'd say the current morphine dosage is adequate…I'd like to speak to the surgeon who worked on me, of course, to get an idea of the long term ramifications, and set up a plan for rehabilitation, somewhere other than here, preferably, but other than that…" She was flailing, searching for her old self.

"Brennan." Angela's tone stopped her instantly. "Don't do that, okay?"

Brennan was quiet as Angela sat down in the chair Booth had occupied, then fixed her with the look she only used when she wanted to convey seriousness.

"Booth's alive."

"I know."

"He's _alive._ And that's a very, very good thing."

"I _know_."

"You sent him out?" Angela asked gently.

Brennan continued to look away from Angela; she stared instead at her hand, bandaged on the palm from where the killer had sliced his knife, and just below it, the white line of newly formed scar tissue where her stitches had been removed.

"He didn't tell me, Angela," Brennan said quietly. "The whole time I was…" She stopped, flushing. "He was just somewhere else. Just waiting. He never called, he just…" Realizing something, Brennan added, "And Parker, that day in the mall…Rebecca told him Booth was on a trip, I just thought she was trying to put off telling him the truth…" Instantly, Brennan's eyes glinted. "He knew. And _Rebecca_ knew, but I…I didn't."

"I know," Angela said. "But, Sweetie, I swear, he had no idea. Cullen took you off the list and didn't tell him. He thought you knew."

"That doesn't _matter_," Brennan burst out, then instantly pressed her lips together. She was being irrational. It had happened, there was no changing it. She was searching desperately for that old ability, to reason through everything, to compartmentalize. Booth was alive; she should be able to go back to the way it was before. But before she could stop herself, words were spilling out, "To know he could have just called me at anytime…he shouldn't have simply _assumed_. Not with something that important."

"Believe me, I agree. And when he first showed up at the lab, I let him know it, in no uncertain terms. But, Bren, you should have seen his face when we told him you didn't know. He was horrified. It had never even crossed his mind as a possibility."

Brennan was quiet. The pain was beginning to hit her, and she was feeling drowsy.

After a moment, Angela hesitantly ventured, "Brennan, Booth's alive. He's _alive_. All that stuff you've been beating yourself up over, everything you never told him…you have a second chance. You should be taking it, not sending him away. You have to tell him how it felt to lose him, you have to tell him that you-"

"I think I've made enough of an idiot out of myself," Brennan interrupted.

Angela's voice softened, "Oh, Sweetie, you haven't been an idiot."

"Yes, I have. I've been behaving completely irrationally for the past month, and everyone's been free to observe it. And I'm assuming Booth's been filled in as well." Her eyes found Angela's, both a question and a challenge there.

"I showed him the e-mail," Angela admitted flatly. "I knew he'd bring you back, and it was the only way to show him that he had to."

Brennan looked away again, wincing as she thought back to what she'd written. She remembered all of it, thanks to the time she'd spent agonizing over the correct parting words to her best friend.

Before Brennan could come up with some sort of closed off response, Angela said fiercely, "And don't think we aren't going to talk about that, either, when you get out of here. Because I swear, Brennan, if I ever get another letter like that from you…" Her voice broke, and Brennan looked back at Angela to find her struggling not to cry.

Just like that, Brennan's eyes filled. "I'm sorry. For that, and for everything else…the mountains, and the fight…you were right, I was…I've been very weak throughout this whole thing."

Angela shook her head vigorously. "I _never_ said that, okay? I wouldn't. You weren't weak. You aren't made of _stone_, Brennan, you're allowed to grieve when you lose someone. You were _grieving_."

"For someone who was alive."

"You didn't know that. None of us did."

Brennan sighed, leaning back against her pillow. "But now he…he knows how I…" she trailed off uncertainly, not sure how to sum the past month up in words.

Angela raised an eyebrow. "Sweetie. What makes you think he wouldn't be the exact same way?" When Brennan didn't respond, Angela pressed, "That's _why_ he put you on the list in the first place."

"We…we're partners," Brennan protested feebly.

Angela actually laughed. "We're way past that excuse, Bren. To be honest, we left that behind at _least_ a year ago, but now you've actually admitted it…no going back."

Brennan sighed, frustrated. "All the events of the past month were predicated on the assumption that Booth was dead. Now that we know that was erroneous, everything needs to reevaluated…"

Angela smiled at her, soft and a little sad. "Sorry, Sweetie. It's a nice theory, maybe, but it doesn't really work like that." She paused, then added, "It happened. It's part of you. But maybe, eventually…you'll see that it was a good thing." Brennan's head snapped up, and she looked at Angela as though she were insane. "I'm serious, Bren. Now you really know what you'd be missing. You see how much you need him in your life, and don't even try to deny that. You like evidence, right? Because there's a lot of it now. And you get this second chance. That's kind of incredible."

"Incredible would be if Booth somehow…resurrected, or if someone perfected time travel. Neither of those in remotely possible. And being lied to…that's not incredible, Ange." Brennan's tone, however, held no real conviction.

"Don't you want to see him?"

"No, I don't," Brennan replied instantly. It was only partially a lie. Yes, she wanted to see Booth, badly. To hear his voice, to stare into his eyes, to breathe him in. But that was the desire she'd had for the past month, the desire to see him when she thought he was gone, which she still hadn't managed to shake.

The other part of her, the part that had accepted the truth, didn't want to see him at all.

That part was angry. Even though, logically, she couldn't understand why. She hadn't been told. He'd had no idea. It really wasn't his fault.

Yet there was no denying that she was upset with him. Even if she couldn't yet explain why.

"I can't see him now, Angela. I just…I just can't, alright?" She turned pleading eyes on her friend, who understood that there was no point asking for an explanation, because Brennan had idea herself.

"Okay," Angela agreed quietly, dropping it for now. "The surgeon said she'd be by soon to go over some things with you, and get you some more pain meds if you need."

~(B*B)~

Booth spent the next five hours or so in the waiting room, across from Hodgins, who went in to see Brennan a few times himself.

Angela was in and out; mostly in, of course, but she was sure to provide any updates she could to the guys. Hodgins was taking care of the many phone calls that had to be made, from Brennan's dad and brother to Cam, Sweets and Zack, all of whom had asked to be updated.

Booth was mainly quiet, staring at his hands, avoid the vaguely pitying look Hodgins got when he looked at him.

He wished he'd been able to find better words. He'd been so focused on getting the truth across, he hadn't bothered to consider what she might do with it, what he needed to stress. Like how sorry he was. And how he understood. And how he would have given absolutely anything to change the way everything happened.

How he'd never meant to leave her, even for a little while.

He asked, tentatively, several times, through Angela, if he could talk to her. Angela would ask, then emerge after a very short discussion and apologetically pass on the decline, with a little reassurance of her own.

"Just give her some more time."

"She's scared, Booth."

"It's just a lot to process."

She drifted off for awhile mid-afternoon, when they upped her morphine when the pain began to increase. At that point, Booth went in the room and reclaimed the position he'd held all night: right beside her bed, holding her hand, just watching her. But the moment she began to stir, he slipped out, trading with Angela, not yet ready to defy her.

Hodgins left the hospital around seven to pick up food for their small group. When he returned, he offered the key cards to two hotel rooms. It was only at Brennan's insistence that Angela agreed to accompany her fiancée for a few hours of sleep, but Booth refused, in spite of the fact that he still wasn't welcome in her room.

He wasn't going any further than he had to.

~(B*B)~

Angela left a little before midnight, telling her several times that Booth was staying just outside, in the waiting room.

"You should tell him to go with you two to the hotel," Brennan told her, once again. "I…I don't want to see him, and if I need something, a nurse will be much more efficient than he will."

"No arguing with him, Sweetie. He's not going anywhere." Angela raised her eyebrows, and her tone attributed a greater significance to the last sentence. "No are you sure you don't need me to stay?"

"I'll be fine, Ange. Get some sleep."

"You, too."

~(B*B)~

"_Come on, Booth! You're gonna do this…you're gonna be fine. You can make this. Come on. Come on, Booth! You're gonna make it, c'mon…you can do this. C'mon Booth, it's gonna fine, c'mon Booth, no…"_

_She's kneeling over him, one hand clutching his, the other pressed to his wound. The blood's coming faster, so fast…as his grip on her hand grows limp, her own hold strengthens, to make up for it. As if she can hold on for him._

_The look of fear in his eyes scared her, but the way that it's leaving him scares her more. The life is draining out of him by degrees. His pulse is thread and fading, his breaths less frequent. In contrast, her heart is throbbing heavily and quick, her lungs gasping for breaths. She is working for both of them. _

_When the hands begin to pull at her, trying to draw her away, his eyes are gazing up, no longer seeing. She struggles. She won't let them take him from her. Because then he will disappear, into an ambulance, down the hallway in a hospital, and then he will be gone._

_The blood is spreading, soaking her arms, her stomach, her legs. She doesn't understand how he's losing so much. She fights someone's grip on her shoulder. Turns around, meaning to tell the paramedics to go away, not to take him, that they will be unable to save him. That only she can save him._

_When she looks back, he is gone. _

_The Checker Box has faded, and she's kneeling by an open grave. A coffin is beside it, waiting to go down._

_She's still covered in blood. It's fresh, still slick against her skin. He cannot have died. Not that quickly. It's some sort of mistake._

_They begin to lower the coffin into the grave, right in front of her. It's open, and she glanced inside, sure it will be empty, sure it is a mistake._

_He lays there, blood still staining his shirt. Stares up at her with vacant brown eyes._

_Hands grip her shoulder. Shoves her forward._

_She falls._

Brennan woke up in bed, trembling all over. The sheets were tight around her, and something was sticky and cold, drenching her body. For a moment, she panicked, thinking it blood instead of the usual cold sweat that accompanied her nightmare.

She choked suddenly, bile rising in her throat, and she swallowed hard to force it back.

Sitting up, Brennan blinked around the dim hospital room. Pain shot through her at the movement, but only lasted for a moment.

Her heart was slamming in her chest, and her lungs felt too tight, constricted. She hated how real the nightmare was, how easily it melded with reality.

This nightmare, or some variation of it, had awakened her almost every night since the shooting. And always, _always_, the need to see Booth, to have him back, had nearly paralyzed her.

Except this time, she could.

She swiped the sheets over her forehead, realizing for the first time that tears were drying on her cheeks, mingling with the sweat.

She had to see him.

With difficultly, Brennan turned on her side and gingerly got out of bed. She wasn't supposed to be walking, and each step sent an uncomfortable jolt of pain through her stomach, but she had to see him. They'd removed her IV just before she'd gone to sleep, switching her to oral pain meds.

Moving slowly, one tentative step at a time, Brennan stepped into the hallway of the hospital. The recovery wing was calm at this hour, dimly lit and without much activity.

There were only a few people in the waiting room besides him, but Brennan didn't even look at the others to see if they were awake and staring at the woman in the hospital gown, taking small, careful steps forward.

Her eyes went straight to Booth, sitting on the end of a small sofa, his elbow propped on the arm of the couch, cheek in his palm, staring off into space.

She swallowed hard, and her voice was thick with tears when she said his name, "Booth?"

His head snapped up, and he stood instantly, eyes widening. "Bones…"

Then he was in front of her, looking cautiously into her eyes. "What's wrong? What do you need? What can I do?"

The tenderness of his voice was like a slice to the heart, and the a sob came tearing out of her, tears falling fast. He didn't wait for further invitation before wrapping an arm around her and gently guiding her away from prying eyes and back toward her room, letting her lean on him.

Brennan practically fell against him, holding tight, and he hugged her with everything he had.

Just inside the door of her room, Booth shifted slightly, about to gently suggest she lay back down. Without warning, she drew back, staring up at him, eyes terrified. "Stay?"

Booth nodded hard, able to get one word out. "Always."

Placated, she let him help her back to bed, and Booth didn't wait for her to ask before he climbed in beside her, letting Brennan curl against him.

"Bones…" he murmured against her hair. "Bones, I am so sorry-"

"No," she shook her head against him, her voice muffled against his chest. "No, don't do that. I don't want to hear that…"

She wasn't ready, yet, to hear explanations, to forgive him, to even examine why she was angry. But she needed him with her right now, and she knew this as surely as she knew any rock solid scientific fact. This, seeking him out, it wasn't about choice.

"Okay," he agreed in a whisper.

"Just stay."

"I'm staying. I promise, Bones…"

A fresh wave of tears spilled from her eyes, splashing against his neck. "Say it again," Brennan breathed. It was dark in the hospital room, and the words came out easier, sliding out in the dark as if she wasn't entirely responsible."

"I'm staying," Booth repeated.

"No…the other thing." When he didn't immediately reply, she murmured into his neck, "My name…"

Booth's vision blurred as he understood what she wanted. "My Bones."

She didn't protest his possessive pronoun; she merely tightened her grip in response, pressing a hand to his heart, reveling in the steady thumping under her palm. "Again…"

"Bones."

_A/N: Made it! Like I said, this one was pretty packed, and I can't wait to read your reviews. I reworked some scenes in this several times each, so I hope it all ended up coming together. From the wait on Brennan to wake up, to her finally, FINALLY learning the truth, to that last image (which I'm a little in love with, honestly)…this was an important chapter. I hope Brennan's conflicting emotions over the whole thing have you wandering a little, and wanting to know how everything's going to play out. Let me know what you think! You guys are great._


	12. Comes and Goes In Waves

_A/N: Hey, all! So thrilled with the response to the last two chapters…you guys are the greatest. Your reviews are addicting. Sorry this one took so long, but I moved back to school last week, and so the past few weeks have been hectic, from packing at home to unpacking here and starting new classes and catching up with everyone. Plus, I've caught up to myself now, so I'm no longer a few chapters ahead. This one started out as a bit of a filler, but a lot of really important moments happen here, so I hope you enjoy it. _

_**Chapter Twelve**_

_Come and Goes (In Waves)_

_This one's for the faithless  
The ones that are surprised  
They're only where they are now  
Regardless of their fight_

This one's for believing  
If only for it's sake  
Come on friends get up now  
Love is to be made

And this part was for her  
And this part was for her  
This part was for her  
Does she remember?

It comes and goes in waves  
I...  
Am only led to wonder why

_~Greg Laswell_

The first sensation that swept through Brennan when she opened her eyes was a powerful sense of emptiness, followed instantly by some deep rooted panic, starting in her chest and unfurling, slowly spreading.

She twisted around in the small hospital bed, his name rising in her throat, and then she saw him, sitting in the chair beside her bed.

Booth first smiled, but it faded when he recognized the panicked expression Brennan wasn't able to wipe away fast enough.

"Bones, hey…it's okay. I'm right here, alright? I didn't go anywhere…"

As the sleep began to clear from her mind, Brennan felt a rush of embarrassment that Booth had not only noticed her panic, but quickly discerned the reason for it.

Oblivious to her embarrassment, Booth smiled slightly. "A doctor came in earlier to check your vitals, so I figured I should move."

The mention of the previous night only intensified the mortification filling Brennan. It had just a stupid nightmare, one she had no reason to continue having, and definitely not one that should have bothered her so much.

_Booth's alive_, she told herself firmly. _Even if he isn't there when I wake up, he's still alive. Even if I dream something different, he's __alive__. _

Facts. Brennan was comfortable with facts. They would help her accept this whole thing.

Straightening in the bed, Brennan forced a business like tone, "I want to know how this happened."

Booth blinked at her, confused. "How…what happened?"

"This…_misunderstanding_." She winced a little at how bitter the word sounded. "The fact that Cullen decided not to inform me. I need to know everything."

Booth held her gaze silently for a moment, as though trying to gauge her motives. Then, he began to nod. "Okay…" He slid the chair forward slightly. "When I woke up after surgery, Cullen was waiting for me…"

Brennan listened without interrupting as Booth took her through the abbreviated history of Reynolds' case, and Cullen's original proposal.

"…I'm serious, Bones, he never made it seem that the list was anything but certain. Never said he had to review it or anything. I kept it short like he said…you, my parents, Jared, and Rebecca and Parker. He never said anything else about it. But he said….apparently they were worried about you being too close to the squints, not being able to lie…" His face twisted a little, anger returning, but Booth swallowed it down. "He just didn't care, Bones. Not about anything other than his investigation, and believe me, I let him know how shitty that is…"

Brennan's eyes flitted away from his. Her tone firm, she asked, "What happened after they moved you to the safehouse?"

Booth abruptly stopped talking, studying her. He could see the ferocity in her gaze, the determination to stay focused on the hard facts. Recovering, he continued, "For awhile, not much. We were just waiting, getting updates from Agent Gray, the guy we had inside the crime team. We had a phone, but it only dialed out directly to Cullen. I asked him every chance I got to give me a solid deadline, but he never could." Booth leaned forward, his tone earnest. "Bones, I swear, he never even gave me a clue that he'd left you off the list, I never-"

"Booth-"

"No, Bones, I know you don't want to hear this, okay? I know. But I need you to understand. I was an idiot, I shouldn't have trusted him, but I _swear_ the possibility never even crossed my mind. I mean, hell, when I talked to Parker a few weeks ago he said he saw you at the mall and-"

The determinedly indifferent expression fell from Brennan's face. "Wait, you…you _talked_ to Parker?" She swallowed, hating the pitch change in her voice. "You said that… you said your phone only dialed to Cullen."

"It…it did…" Booth stammered. His stomach clenched as he realized his mistake. For a moment, his mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse. But he didn't want to lie to Bones, he couldn't. "It only dialed _out_ to him, but…but anyone could call." Brennan's mouth opened, and Booth anticipated her next question, adding, "The agent gave everyone on the list the phone number when…when he informed them."

He could see Brennan processing, turning over the evidence and coming to a conclusion. It was an expression he'd seen often; this time, though, the conclusion just brought on more confusion. "But…but I didn't call you."

"I know, Bones," Booth answered quietly.

"Did the others…?"

His voice even lower, Booth told her, "Yes. Everyone else on the list called."

"But…if everyone on your list called, with the exception of me…how is that the possibility that I wasn't informed never occur to you?"

Booth flinched, his throat tightening. He couldn't look at her.

Her voice growing louder without her consent, Brennan shot at him, "_Why _did you think I never called you, Booth?"

"I thought….maybe the agent didn't give you the number," Booth answered lamely.

Eyes flashing, Brennan retorted, "Did you _ask_?"

"Yeah, I…I did. Cullen talked around it. He said the agent gave 'everyone on the list' the-"

"And _then_ why did you think I never called you?" Brennan's voice was shaking with anger, and she pressed her lips together, grasping for control.

"I…I don't know." Booth didn't recognize his own voice, meek and small, like a young boy who knew he'd done something wrong.

Brennan didn't say anything. She just held his eyes, and Booth had to struggle not to drag his gaze away. She looked both dazed and angry, like Booth had slapped her, and the shock of it was just beginning to wear off.

"I know, Bones, look, I…I thought maybe you were mad. Or that you thought there was no reason to call me…"

"No _reason_?!" Brennan repeated before she could stop herself. "No reason to call you, apart from the fact that you were gone a month? Or that the last time I saw you, you were bleeding out under my hands? Or that it was the longest we'd gone without talking since-" Brennan stopped abruptly, hearing herself, and flushing. She should be agreeing with him, insisting that there really was no reason for her to call him.

Booth's face was stripped with pain. "I know-"

"Stop saying you know!" The words ripped from her chest, in spite of the fact that Brennan desperately wanted to shut up and ignore it, to pretend like the past month hadn't ruined her. "You _don't_ know, Booth, okay? I'm not an idiot, Booth, even in non-academic areas. I know you think I don't care, that I'm incapable of-"

"God, Bones, I don't think that-"

"Yes, you do. Or you would _know_ that I would have called you." Her voice cracked, in spite of her most valiant efforts to keep steady. "You would have known, and you'd have asked, and then…then you could have called me and told me…" She gave a humorless, incredulous soft laugh. "You should have known…"

"I know," he whispered.

"No you don't," Brennan snapped, her voice cold. She looked away, blinking furiously. "Just go, Booth."

Booth's heart lurched, panic settling over the overwhelming shame. "No, Bones, please, just…don't kick me out again. Please, I…I'm so sorry, I didn't think-"

Raising her voice and speaking over him, Brennan repeated, "Just go, just get out."

"Let me explain-"

"I don't want you to explain, I want you to _go_."

Silence settled for a moment, then Booth stood, once again, to leave.

~(B*B)~

Angela returned to the hospital around 9:30 the next morning, armed with take-out bags of breakfast.

The smile fell from her face as soon as she saw Booth in the waiting room, slunk down in a chair, looking even more dejected than when she'd left him.

"Morning," she shot him a sympathetic smile. "She still won't let you in?"

Up close, Angela could see how exhausted he looked, rubbing his tired eyes with his palms and staring blearily at her. "She did. She let me in, she…she came looking for me."

"What?"

"In the middle of the night, she was upset, I don't know what-"

"Nightmares," Angela murmured. "She's been having them a lot. I guess…I guess they can't just stop just because you basically rose from the dead."

"I guess," Booth repeated in a hollow voice. "Anyway, she asked me to stay, and I just…I just held her." Angela's face softened. "But…but I screwed it up. This morning, she wanted to know how everything happened and I messed it up. She asked me to leave. Again."

Sighing, Angela took a seat next to Booth. "Honey, you have to give her some time. She thinks she was weak, falling apart the way she did. You know how she is, Bren doesn't think she's allowed to feel things that deeply. And the fact that she did scares the hell out of her, and she thinks we're all going to judge her or something ridiculous."

His voice catching, Booth replied, "I, I just…I just don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix this." His shoulders slumped. "I have fix this…"

Angela watched him silently for a moment, then shot him a small smile, "I'll talk to her, alright? See what I can do…"

~(B*B)~

"Morning, Sweetie," Angela chirped, a determinedly cheerful smile on her face. "How you feeling this morning?"

"I'm fine," Brennan answered, her face impassive. "I'd like to speak to my surgeon as soon as possible. I'd like to be released soon, and if rehab is necessary I'd prefer to do it from D.C."

"Okay, Bren, I'll try to get her, but…look, we need to talk."

"You're right, we do." Surprised, Angela raised her eyebrows expectantly. Brennan continued flatly, "I need you to make Booth leave."

"You know Booth, Bren…that's not going to happen."

"Well, _make_ it happen," she retorted heatedly. "I can't have him here, I don't…I don't _want_ him here."

"Sweetie, I know this is a lot to take in, and I know it's hard, but…are you sure you're mad at Booth and not just…afraid?"

For a moment, Brennan just looked at her best friend. Then she told her quietly, "There was a phone. The people on the list, they were given a number, they could call him. They all called him." Her face tightened. "But he still never guessed…he just thought I didn't care enough."

Angela stiffened, and something primal flashed in her gaze. "I'll be back."

~(B*B)~

Booth was shrinking against corner of a chair in the waiting room, hating himself, when Angela came storming back into the waiting room, the sympathetic demeanor from minutes before completely gone.

"Anything you forgot to mention?" she demanded.

"Angela-"

"There was a _phone_, Booth?! Everyone on your precious list called, everyone but her, and you still didn't even _consider _the possibility?"

The muscles in his jaw tightened. "No, I didn't. I know it sounds terrible, I know I was an idiot. But I honestly didn't."

"So, what?" Angela advanced on him, towering over him. "You thought she just didn't care?"

"No!" Booth shouted, louder than he intended. "No, it's not that, I thought, I, I thought…I thought she was _Bones_. You know, with her logic and her rationalizing and not doing what everyone else would do. She's not easy to understand sometimes, and I just…I thought she was just being Bones."

Angela sighed heavily, closing her eyes briefly. Then she asked, "Did you…do you remember anything after you were shot? Did you see her face?"

The image flashed in Booth's mind; Bones had been terrified, hysterical…begging him to hang on, one hand pressed over his wound, the other holding his. "Yeah, I did."

"Then you should know. You should have known she would have _had_ to talk to you. And yeah, maybe she'd have made some excuse, invented some pretense so it seemed like she had an actual motive for calling, but…she _would_ have called. She'd have had to make sure you didn't leave for good."

Booth stared down at his hands, his eyes stinging. "I didn't know…I didn't…I didn't know why she didn't call, I didn't know there was even a chance…" He raised his face, red-rimmed eyes meeting Angela's. "And I don't know how to fix it now."

"Maybe you should just go," Angela suggested softly. "Get some sleep, give her some space…"

He was already shaking his head. "I can't. I can't just leave her, I can't…what if she needs me?"

Angela studied him for a long moment. "You could be waiting awhile."

"Then that's what I'll do."

~(B*B)~

The day passed a lot like the previous one. Booth hovering in the waiting room, Brennan restless in the hospital room. She was resistant to all Angela's attempts to talk, and continuously refused to see Booth.

Still, Angela stayed with her for most of the day, while Hodgins was in and out. Booth barely moved from his seat in the waiting room.

Brennan's surgeon told her she'd have to remain in the hospital for at least another week before flying back to DC, where she would be confined to mostly bed rest for awhile longer. The news wasn't exactly received well, but it was unavoidable.

"Booth?" Angela stepped into the waiting room around eleven that night. "You should go to the hotel. I'm going to stay with her tonight."

Booth stared straight ahead. "I'm not leaving."

Angela sighed impatiently. "Booth, she doesn't want to see you. She's not going to talk to you about it, she won't even talk to me."

"I…I know that. It's just…" he trailed off, thinking of the way Bones had look the previous night, walking unsteadily into the waiting room, completely vulnerable. "I just don't want to go too far."

Angela shrugged. "Up to you."

~(B*B)~

Brennan was staring listlessly at the ceiling of her hospital room.

Another week she'd be stuck here, in this hospital, in Seattle. With no way to ignore the glaring evidence of how far she'd fallen.

It was no wonder she couldn't go back to normal, when she was stuck in a hospital bed across the country, all because she went after a serial killer hoping to die.

She wanted to be back in DC, back to work. If life could just return to the way it was Before, she could, too.

Of course, that meant at some point she'd have to forgive him.

"Hey, Sweetie," Angela smiled in greeting, flicking the room light off before settling into the chair next to Brennan's bed, a pillow under her arm.

"What are you doing back here?"

"I'm going to stay with you tonight."

Brennan shook her head instantly. "That's not necessary, Angela, you should go back to the hotel-"

"Sweetie, you know me, I can sleep anywhere. And I don't like leaving you by yourself."

"That's ridiculous, I'm perfectly-"

Angela shot her a patented Look. "It's really not open to discussion, Bren. Two days ago I was pretty sure you were going to die, mainly because you basically _told_ me…if I want to stay within a three feet radius of you for the next _year_, that's my own damn decision."

Chastened, Brennan nodded silently, watching Angela settle herself into the chair. After awhile, she said quietly, "Thanks."

Angela looked up at her, her face softening. "Not a problem."

Brennan threw a glance at the door. "Is he still out there?"

"Yeah." Angela shrugged helplessly. "I really tried to get him to go to the hotel, but it's Booth. He's stubborn."

Brennan didn't reply, and after silence held for a few minutes, Angela ventured, "Bren, I know you're angry at Booth but…did you think anymore about what I said yesterday? About this being a second chance?"

"I don't know what that means." The reply slipped out automatically, even though it wasn't entirely true.

Angela sighed. "Say Booth really had been dead…"

"But he wasn't."

"I know, but just…hypothetically. And say you had a chance to just go back, to when he was alive."

"That's not possible."

Rolling her eyes, Angela impatiently clarified, "We're being hypothetical, Bren." Brennan continued to give her a blank look, so Angela switched strategies. "Fine. When you thought Booth was dead, weren't there things you wished you told him?"

Reluctantly, Brennan nodded.

"And now he's here, and you can do it right this time."

Brennan looked away. "He…I keep thinking about his voicemail."

Now it was Angela's turn to stare blankly. "What?"

"Booth's…his voicemail message, when I was living in his apartment I would…play it sometimes…" Brennan sighed, unsure why she even brought that up. It was embarrassing, but then there wasn't much point in keeping anything from Angela. She had long passed to point of saving her dignity. "To hear his voice."

"Bren…"

"And the whole time…he was on the other end of some phone, talking to his parents and his brother and Rebecca. I had to play the same message over and over to hear his voice, and he thought I wouldn't have called." Brennan's face twisted, and Angela could see it through the dim light of the hospital.

"He was an idiot," Angela said firmly. "But maybe…if he really honestly believed Cullen when he said he'd taken care of it, as if there was no question about it…I can understand it, Bren. That it never even seemed within the realm of possibility. We don't know exactly how every conversation with Cullen went, but he was Booth's boss and he was lying to him. Booth didn't expect it."

Brennan was quiet for a long time. "You're right."

"I…I am?" Angela asked, surprised. "Does that mean you'll talk to Booth?"

"No," Brennan replied evenly.

"Why?"

Brennan shook her head. "I just…I don't want to, Ange. Okay? Let's just sleep."

"Fine, whatever you want, Bren." Angela held up her hands in an unseen gesture of surrender; Brennan was laying flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "Good night, Sweetie."

"Night," Brennan murmured. And as her best friend curled in the chair, eyes closing, Brennan stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

~(B*B)~

Angela woke up with the wooden arm of the chair digging into her side. Wincing, she shifted slightly, struggling to get comfortable.

Glancing over at the bed, she could dimly see Brennan's eyes, wide open and staring. "Sweetie?" Angela glanced blearily at the clock on the wall. It was after three a.m. "Why are you awake?"

"I…" Brennan stopped abruptly, then started again, "I can't sleep."

Running her fingers through her hair, Angela stated, "You need rest, Bren. I'll go get a nurse, they can give you something to help-"

"No!"

Angela stared, taken aback by the ferocity of Brennan's protest.

Forcing herself to sound calmer, Brennan added, "It isn't necessary. I'm simply not tired, I've had nothing to do all day but nap."

Angela blinked at her, skeptically. "Not once did you nap today." Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, Angela was able to get a better look at Brennan's face. "_And_ you're exhausted."

Protesting feebly, Brennan insisted, "I'm not…"

Silently, Angela scrutinized Brennan's expression. She looked like she was struggling to keep her eyes open. Angela couldn't understand why she was fighting sleep so hard. Unless…

"Sweetie, if the doctors give you something to help you sleep, it'll be heavy enough that you probably won't even have the nightmares-"

"It's not about that," Brennan interrupted firmly. "I don't care about those, I just…" She looked away. "I can't sleep."

Angela was quiet for moment, then she stood and left the room without explanation, leaving Brennan calling after her, "Angela, I don't _want_ more medication-"

Ignoring her, Angela walked swiftly to the waiting room. Booth was sleeping on the couch, and she shook him awake.

Booth opened his eyes, blearily. "Wha's happening?"

"Booth?"

He sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. "What's the matter, is Bones okay?"

"I…she's mostly fine, but….she's lying in there, wide awake, and it's 3:30 in the morning. She won't sleep. She wants to, I can see it, but she won't, and I don't…I don't know why. But I think you should go in there."

Fully awake now, Booth got to his feet. "Is she asking?"

"No," Angela answered honestly. "But you should go anyway."

~(B*B)~

When the door opened and he, instead of Angela, walked in, Brennan stiffened. She didn't look at him, but she also didn't tell him to go.

She turned on her side, facing away from the door and the chair, staring at the wall.

Booth, too, was quiet. He sat down in the chair Angela had been sleeping in, sliding it as close to the bed as he could.

He didn't try to talk, or even make her look at him. Booth simply reached out and gently reached for her hand, the one he could get to, covering it with his.

~(B*B)~

Brennan was laying on her side, her left arm curled in front of her chest, her right draped against her thigh.

She lay there, stiff, heart thumping in her chest, listening to the quiet noise of Booth's movements.

Then, after a moment of quiet, one of his hands settled gently over her right one, enveloping it in warmth.

Brennan swallowed, quelling the instinct to pull away. After a moment, when Booth, to surprise, remained silent, Brennan lifted her fingers slightly, threading them through his.

And then, with his hand over hers, Brennan closed her eyes and let herself sleep.

~(B*B)~

When she woke up in the morning, disoriented and shaky from dreams that were more like a flickering of images, coffins and blood and Booth's body, the first thing Brennan was aware of was Booth's hand, still pressed over hers.

She drew a long, cleansing breath, relaxing.

Gingerly, Brennan rolled over, facing Booth.

One of his arms was stretched out, holding her hand. The other was folded on the edge of the bed, cushioning his head. He was asleep, snoring softly.

For some reason, the image made Brennan's eyes swim with tears.

Careful not to jostle the bed, she turned completely on her other side, watching him.

~(B*B)~

The first thing Booth saw when he opened his eyes was Brennan's staring back at him. In the next second, hers flitted away.

He smiled sleepily. "Morning."

"Morning," she replied quietly, addressing the ceiling more than him.

Booth sat up, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Listen, Bones, I…I need to say something."

He waited until she reluctantly dragged her gaze to meet his. "I don't want to do this again. This thing where you get mad at me and I don't get to see you all day. I understand why you're mad…I've been mad at myself, this whole time. I'd give anything to go back, to make sure this didn't happen like this but…I can't. And I don't know what to say or do to fix this now.

"Because I want to. And I missed you the whole time I was at that safehouse. I drove Cullen crazy, calling all the time, asking him if he was sure the agent gave you the number, asking for a definite deadline. I had no idea."

"I know," Brennan told him quietly. "I know you wouldn't have let it happen on purpose." She raised her eyes to meet his. "You aren't that kind of man, Booth."

Something unfurled in Booth's chest. "Thanks, Bones," he whispered hoarsely.

She smiled shakily at him, and he returned it.

After a moment, Booth broke the silence. "I told you what happened, that month I was gone. What about you?"

Brennan tensed instantly, face paling. "What about me?"

Hesitantly, Booth answered, "I mean…this whole time I've thought an agent came to your apartment to tell you about the cover-up and then you had to pretend for the next month. But…I want to know what…what…" he stopped looking at the way Brennan's expression first flashed with horror, then slowly morphed into her usual impassive mask.

He cursed himself inwardly. Just when she was starting to open up to him, he'd caused her to shut down again.

"I'm not talking about that."

Backpedalling, Booth nodded quickly. "Okay, sorry. You don't have to."

The air around them had thickened, and Booth cleared his throat awkwardly, searching for a way to bring her back, when Bones said, "Booth…"

"No, no, no, don't…I know that tone, that's the get out tone., Bones, please…"

Without looking at him, Brennan said, "No, I…I was just going to ask if you could get the surgeon. I'd like to speak with her again-"

"Bones, you can't rush this, alright? I know you want to get out of here, but you have to-"

"Booth, I want to speak to my surgeon," Brennan cut him off, speaking slowly and deliberately.

He stared at her for a moment, then agreed, "Alright."

~(B*B)~

Angela came in an hour later, having finished out the night on a couch in the lobby. "Morning, Sweetie. Glad you finally got some sleep." When Brennan didn't answer, Angela sat down in the chair. "Where's Booth?"

"I sent him for food."

Angela's eyebrows drew together. "_What_? Temperance Brennan actually _requested_ food? Why are you sending Booth for food?"

Brennan sighed, avoiding Angela's eyes. Ever since she'd sent Booth to get her surgeon, she'd found other reasons to keep him out of the room.

"Bren…" Angela put a hand on her arm. "What's going on?"

Brennan stared down at the sheets, picking at a loose thread with her fingers. She thought of slicing her wrist with a knife, of sitting in the middle of Booth's living crying over a pillow, of breaking down in a shopping mall, of falling from a mountain, of the e-mail she'd sent.

There really was no point in pretending around Angela.

"I can't sleep," she admitted, barely audible. "I mean, I'm…_afraid_." The heat rose to her cheeks; she sounded startlingly young. "I'm afraid to go to sleep, and I haven't felt that since I was sixteen."

Angela nodded slightly, reaching up and brushing back a stray lock of hair from Brennan's forehead. "Why are you afraid?"

"Because…." Brennan sighed. "It's illogical, Ange."

"That's okay," she said gently. "What is it?"

"I…" Brennan closed her eyes, the unwelcome tears returning. "I'm afraid to go to sleep because I'm afraid that when I wake up he'll be gone again."

Angela's throat tightened. "Oh, Sweetie…"

Brennan shook her head, blinking the tears away. "It's ridiculous and illogical. I _know_ Booth is alive, I understand why we thought he wasn't. I know the fact that he was never dead won't change from between sleeping and waking, I _know_. But…"

"But you're afraid anyway."

Brennan nodded, swiping a bandaged finger under her eye to catch a rogue tear. "I, I fell asleep after we came back from the hospital, just for a brief…I doubt I even entered a REM cycle. But I was asleep, because they said he'd be fine, and when I woke up the phone was ringing and you…" Brennan's face tightened in a childlike mask of grief. "You were telling me he was dead. And then when I was in the cave, when I was stabbed…Booth was there, and I couldn't understand it…" She paused, swallowing the admission that she'd thought she was dying and he was there for her. "He was _there_, but I woke up in the hospital and he was gone again. And I thought…I thought I'd imagined it. And now…I'm afraid to go to sleep. Because even yesterday, there was a moment, when I woke up and didn't see him and I panicked." She sighed, swiping the back of her hand under her eyes and forcing a laugh. "It's irrational, Angela and if…if I could just get home, I'll be fine."

"Brennan, _that_ isn't rational."

"It's perfectly rational, actually," Brennan stated, trying to keep her voice even. "I want everything to return to normal, and of course that can't happen while we're here, in the hospital."

"Sweetie, going home isn't going to make everything that happened just go away. And speaking of going away, why are you sending Booth to get you food? You never do that."

"Because…" Brennan sighed. "Because I'm afraid to sleep unless he's sitting right there. But…but I don't _want_ him in the room, Angela. I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to listen to his apologies anymore, I don't want him asking me questions, and I just…don't want him there."

Angela studied her. "You're still mad about the phone?"

"No…I don't know." She sighed. "I'm not good at this. The feelings and the motives. I just know that sometimes I can't stand the thought of him walking out that door, but more often than that I'm so angry I want to slam that door in his face. And I'm not even sure why."

"Hey."

Both women turned to the door, where Booth was standing, smiling uncertainly, bags of takeout in his hand.

"I got your food, Bones."

Brennan's eyes moved from Angela to him. "Thank you."

He hovered awkwardly in the door, and Angela stood. "I'm going to go give Jack a call-"

"Angela, wait." Brennan's voice, protesting, stopped her, and Angela glanced at Booth, whose smile wilted a little.

"You don't want me to stay." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

Brennan winced, looking down at her hands. "We…we were talking and…"

"No, it's fine." Booth reached into the takeout bag and pulled out a few wrapped items for himself before awkwardly handing the bag to Brennan. "I'll just…get out of your way." He turned to go, pausing at the doorway. "Let me know if you need anything. Bones."

It was quiet for a long moment after the door closed behind Booth. Then Brennan handed the bag of food to Angela. "Do you want this? I'm not really supposed to be-"

"You sent Booth out for food you can't even eat?"

Brennan shrugged helplessly. "He asked me to tell him things. About the past month and…and I couldn't."

~(B*B)~

For the rest of the day, Booth didn't come back into Brennan's hospital room. He left the waiting room, moving from the cafeteria to the chapel to the gift shop, just wandering, never settling in one place for very long.

That night, he found Angela outside Brennan's room, on the phone with Hodgins.

Angela cut the call short. "Where have you been?"

"Around."

At the vague answer, Angela raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Around the hospital," Booth clarified. "But…I'm about to go to the hotel. Get some sleep, you know."

"You can't," Angela replied instantly.

"What?" Booth laughed, incredulous. "Angela, you've been trying to convince me for the past two nights to go to the hotel."

"But what about Brennan?"

He sighed heavily, his whole body visibly sagging. "I can't keep…I stay with her at night, she throws me out in the morning. She won't even look at me, she doesn't want me there. And I don't know what more I can do, and I'm really trying…But I need a break."

"Well, tough," Angela shot back. "She needs you. And I'm sure it's hard, but it doesn't matter. Because after what she went through, she can act however she damn well pleases."

Booth blinked at her, looking startled.

Angela flushed. "S-sorry, I…she's had a hard time, Booth."

"I know."

"I'm not sure you do. And that's not your fault, it's just…I wouldn't have been able to imagine it if I wasn't there watching. And this isn't the kind of thing she's good at dealing with. No one would know how to handle something like this, much less Bren. And if she lets you stay with her during the night it's because she _needs_ you to." Angela sighed, her eyes bright, and she held his gaze solemnly. "Don't give up on her, Booth."

He nodded for a very long time, then turned and headed to Brennan's room.

~(B*B)~

When Booth entered, the routine was the same as the night before. Brennan turned on her side, facing away from him, looking at the wall.

Neither of them spoke as he flipped off the lights and walked to his chair, taking a seat and stretching out to take her hand, to offer the constant reminder that he was right there.

Booth opened his mouth, and for a moment he hesitated, but then he began to speak, his voice low and rough, "I…I know you don't want me here, Bones. And I understand it, even if I don't know exactly why. But I know you don't want to talk about it, but there is something I have to say." He squeezed her hand, continuing even though she didn't turn to look at him. "I _hate_ that this happened. I hate that it happened to you because I know that if it were me…I know I wouldn't be able to take it. At all.

"If there was something I could do to get that month back for you, I'd do it in a second. I want that so much. But I can't do that. I can only be here now. And I am. I'm not going anywhere, Bones. Even when you wish I would; even when you fight me. I'm here, and when you decide you're ready to talk about it, I'm still going to be here. But for right now…I just need you to know how sorry I am."

~(B*B)~

Brennan was crying silently after about two sentences of Booth's speech. Tears dripped slowly from the corners of her eyes, and her lips were trembling furiously to keep herself from sobbing.

"I'm so sorry," Booth repeated, his tone breathless and pleading. "So, so sorry, Bones."

Tentatively, Brennan squeezed his hand gently; he squeezed back.

For some reason, this made her turn over, on her other side, facing him. She gave him a shaking smile, and Booth reached out with his free hand and wiped away her tears.

He smiled softly. "Now you go to sleep. And when you wake up I'll be right here."

_A/n: As I said, it's a bit of a filler, but I think it's an important filler. Next chapter, we'll leave the hospital and really get into the issue of Brennan's anger, most likely with some…explosion. And that's all I'll say here. Anyway, review away! I love them! The more you have to say to me the better haha! _


	13. May I

**A/N: ****Hey, everyone! Thanks for being so awesomely patient…I know it's been a few weeks, but this new semester is already proving to be way more challenging than anything I had last year, especially workload-wise. So I've just been trying to use the limited free time for this whenever I can, but I've just been really busy. It's a pretty long one, so hopefully that will make up for the wait a bit. As always, I love getting your reviews, you guys are seriously the best readers. Keep it up, and I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Thirteen

_May I_

_May I hold you  
as you fall to sleep,  
when the world is closing in  
and you can't breathe.  
May I love you.  
May I be your shield.  
When no one can be found  
may I lay you down._

All I want is to keep you safe from the cold...  
to give you all that your heart needs the most.

**One Week Later**

"Bones, they've been over this. You _have_ to take the wheelchair, the short, short distance to the elevator, then from the elevator to the door. It's the discharge policy. And if you don't sit down and let me push you, we're going to miss our plane."

Brennan sighed. She was perched on the edge of the bed, fully dressed. "Fine. As long as you understand I _am _capable of walking."

He rolled his eyes. "I know, Bones, alright? I understand, now just get in the chair."

Brennan moved gingerly from the bed to the wheelchair; Booth watched the way the muscles in her face tightened when she took even one step. Privately, he thought there was an argument for keeping the wheelchair beyond the hospital exit.

"You good?" He asked as Brennan settled into the chair.

"Fine," she huffed, everything about her body language, expression and tone conveying her displeasure with the wheelchair.

Booth rolled her into the hallway. "Angela's waiting downstairs, she already signed your discharge papers."

"Thank God. And I use that only as a figure of speech."

"Of course," Booth replied, biting back a smile. Brennan had been getting increasingly restless during the past week of the hospital.

True to his word, Booth had been there every second. One of the night nurses had taken pity on him his fourth night there, and brought in a fold-up cot to keep in the room. Although most nights he ended up giving up the cot in favor for the chair, using the edge of Brennan's bed as a pillow, because no matter how close to the bed he put the cot, it was too easy to accidentally lose his grip on her hand in the middle of the night.

On those nights, the nights she'd woken up from the dreams without his hand as an instantaneous reminder, or even some nights when his hand was there but the nightmares too fresh, Brennan let him crowd into the small hospital bed with her.

When that happened, the following morning was always tense. Brennan resolutely pretended nothing out the ordinary had occurred, and it would sometimes be hours before she was speaking to him in something besides a clipped tone, before she stopped avoiding his eyes.

Booth had learned, after a few attempts, not to ask about the month she'd spent thinking he was dead. Every time he'd tried, it had resulted in an immediate shutdown that had her sending him off for unnecessary tasks and took hours to recover from.

Even in the good stretches, the conversation was careful. Almost anything connected to the past month was a forbidden topic, so a lot of conversation was anchored by Brennan's complaints about the hospital, meaningless anthropology facts Booth let her tell him even when it rendered him nearly numb with boredom, and occasionally Parker, whom Brennan would ask about almost anytime there was a lengthy silence.

Booth backed the wheelchair into the elevator. It was empty, and Angela was waiting in the lobby (Hodgins had flown back to DC several days ago), which meant this elevator ride would be the last time he'd be alone with Bones until they got to DC.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Booth started, "Bones, listen…you know they weren't going to discharge you unless you agreed to take it easy for a few weeks…"

"Yes, I know, the doctor went over that thoroughly."

"Right, yeah, I know she did, but also…they also said you shouldn't be by yourself. You know with the whole…decreased mobility and-"

Brennan tilted her head awkwardly to look at him, expression questioning.

Jumping ahead to the point, Booth said, "Right, yeah, anyway…I…I want you to stay with me."

~(B*B)~

"Oh…" Brennan turned around again, facing the elevator door.

She hadn't even thought about where she'd be going back to. She'd become so used to living in Booth's place, her own apartment hadn't even occurred to her. She hadn't really thought about how Booth would be there now.

She was too dependent on him already. Brennan didn't want to need him that much, to let him take care of her all the time, to have him asking her questions. Because he _would _ask questions, even if he had dropped them for now.

Brennan closed her eyes. She had been counting on the return to DC to be what she needed to go back to normal, to pretend the past month hadn't happened, pretend she'd never lost Booth. To _finally_ stop being this fragile, illogical creature she barely recognized.

Decision made, she shook her head and said, in the most casual tone she could muster, "I'm sure Angela wouldn't mind staying with me for a few days."

Booth was quiet for a long, tense moment. Then he reached out and pressed the stop button on the elevator. His voice low, disguising hurt with barely concealed anger, he said, "Yeah, but the thing is, I'm not psyched about having to drive back and forth to your apartment every night when you decide you can't sleep. You're staying with me."

Brennan's cheeks flamed instantly. Booth had broken the unspoken, cardinal rule that had gotten them through the past week: don't mention the fact that she apparently couldn't sleep without him.

She forcefully reached out and pushed the stop button back in. Within seconds, the elevator doors opened with a ding, and Brennan stood from the wheelchair and walked deliberately away from him.

"Bones…Bones, hold on…" He caught up with her easily, gently taking her home. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

She met his eyes, defiantly. "Once I get back…once I get back everything will be fine."

His eyes softened, a little sadly. "Bones, you don't know that."

Brennan looked away. "If I can just….everything will be back to the way it was before. I just need to get home."

Booth's heart caught unexpectedly as he thought again of her e-mail to Angela, her words about home. "I know," he said softly. "So do I. That's why I want you to come with me."

Brennan's eyes held his, her resolve crumbling despite her best efforts.

She allowed herself to picture it; going back to her apartment. Their plane would land late that night in DC, and if she refused Booth's offer, she would be back in her apartment, alone, or maybe at Angela's. Falling asleep without him, something she hadn't been able to do in the past week and a half. Waking up, where she could be hours away from seeing him.

She could do it. Once she was home for a bit, back into that old reality, moved past everything that was fooling her…then she could do it. She could go back to normal, and she could leave him, knowing with certainty that he would be there.

But maybe she couldn't do it tonight.

"Okay," she told him softly, and Booth's face split into a relieved smile. "For a few days, I'll…for a few days."

From across the hospital lobby, Angela headed toward them, able to sense the end of the moment. "Hey." She raised her eyebrows at Brennan. "Did you actually manage to ditch the wheelchair?"

Surprised, Brennan looked behind Booth, as though expecting to see that he'd brought it from the elevator. "I guess I did."

"Well, come on, I've got a cab waiting…we have to get to the airport."

Angela walked ahead, and Booth shot Brennan a smile that she returned almost shyly.

~(B*B)~

Booth was quite thrilled to find out Hodgins had booked the three of them first class tickets back to DC.

Sitting in the lounge before the flight, Angela turned to Brennan and asked in an undertone, "Sleep okay last night?"

Brennan glanced at Booth, sitting on her other side, who pretended he hadn't heard the question. Then she answered, quiet, "Perfectly fine."

Then it was Angela's turn to glance at Booth, who pretended to be studying his cell phone. "No nightmares?"

There was only a slight pause before Brennan answered, "None."

Booth swallowed, forcing himself not to tear his gaze from the screen of his cell phone.

Last night he'd had to shake Bones awake when she'd began to whimper and thrash in her sleep. She'd woken up trembling violently, and he'd stretched out beside her, fingers tangling in her hair, stroking gently until her breaths became long and even.

He let silence hover for a long moment before chancing a look at Brennan, who met his eyes only briefly before hers flitted away.

An hour later, they were taking off. Booth and Brennan were sitting together, while Angela was two rows in front of them.

Only then did Booth lean over and ask Brennan tentatively, "Bones? What Angela said earlier…why do you lie to her?"

Instead of the immediate shutdown he was expecting, Brennan glanced forward to where her best friend was sitting, her expression thoughtful. "She's worried about me enough lately," she replied at last.

Booth sat perfectly still, not sure what to say. This was the first time, not counting the middle of the night panic attacks, Brennan had even acknowledged there had been a reason to worry. Choosing his words very carefully, Booth asked, "About what?"

Brennan tilted her head to look at him, skeptically. "Nice try."

If he'd have tried that back at the hospital, it would have had him sent immediately out for some sort of food Brennan didn't really want, or to track down a doctor. Now, she had no way to get rid of him for the next five hours.

"Bones-"

"Stop it, Booth," she snapped firmly. "Just…just _stop_. I've told you several times I'm not talking about it. One would think you'd notice the response doesn't change."

"I just…I want to know, Bones. I need to know the truth, so I can know how to make this better."

"Make _what_ better? It happened, Booth, you can't change how it happened, and now it's over."

Sighing, Booth insisted, "But it's not. You're still having nightmares, and you still get mad at me." Brennan started to protest, but he cut her off, "I know you do. I know you, Bones, and a lot of times last week…it was like you could barely look at me."

Brennan looked away, staring out the window of the plane, not refuting the statement.

"Just give me something," Booth coaxed, a desperate note sneaking into his voice. "Like…who told you? An agent was supposed to go to everyone on the list and tell them personally, but I don't know…were you at the hospital, did they make a doctor-"

Brennan's eyes were closed, and she interrupted him in a strained voice, "Shut up."

"Bones…"

"Just shut up about it." The words carried a finality, especially when she followed them by turning as much as she could in the seats, staring out the window.

Inwardly, Booth cursed himself. He'd been about two seconds away from her taking back the agreement to come stay with him, something that was precarious enough.

But he wanted to take care of her. But the glimpses of vulnerability and fear he got at night weren't enough for him to do that.

They barely spoke for the rest of the flight, and once Angela passed by them on the way to the bathroom and shot him a questioning look, but he just shook his head.

It was nearly midnight when they landed in DC. Hodgins was waiting at the gate for them.

"Hey!" He smiled at Booth and Brennan as Angela hugged him hard.

"You didn't have to come get us, babe," Angela told him, drawing back.

"I know I didn't. Be lucky it's just me…Sweets and Cam and Zack were all talking about coming with me, but I managed to convince them that'd be a bit much."

Cutting her eyes at Brennan, Angela agreed, "Probably."

Jack turned his attention to his boss, grinning broadly. "Dr. B, nice to see you upright. Doctors give you the okay for everything?"

While they talked, Angela grabbed Booth by the arm and pulled him aside. "You two didn't seem very chatty the whole flight. What's going on?"

Booth rubbed a hand tiredly over his face, shaking his head a little. After a moment, he said almost accusingly, "_You_ said she needed me. And maybe she does sometimes, at night, but then she pretends it never happened, and she still gets mad at me sometimes, and I don't know why. And at night…she's _so_ scared, Angela. But she won't talk about it, she won't help me understand, and now…now she's supposed to be staying with me so I can make sure she's alright, but she doesn't…she won't let me take care of her."

Angela nodded, a little sadly. "Of course not…that would mean admitting she needs to be taken care of." She exhaled slowly, glancing over at Brennan and Hodgins, who seemed to be discussing when Brennan could return to work. "Brennan doesn't _want_ to need anyone. You know that. But she _does_ need you. Ask anyone who was around in the past month, she needed you. But she learned how much she needs you the hard way…by having you taken away. You just…you just have to be patient with her, okay? Don't push."

Booth nodded a lot, stammering a little, "I, I know. I know that, I know how Bones is, you can't rush things like this, I just…I just hate that look, you know?"

"Which look?"

"That look she gives me in the middle of the night when she wakes up. Just terrified, and panicked. I hate it. And sometimes…sometimes I catch her looking at me like I just pulled out a gun and put it against her head, and I hate that look, too, but I don't understand it."

Angela opened her mouth to reply, but Hodgins cut her off, approaching them. "You guys must be tired. Want to head to baggage claim?"

Booth nodded, "Sure, let's do it." Roommate verbatim

Later, in the car, Hodgins glanced in the rearview mirror to the backseat, where Booth and Brennan were sitting silently. "Where am I taking you guys?"

"My plact," Booth answered instantly. He didn't chance looking at Brennan, not wanting her to protest. "Bones is going to stay with me for a couple days."

Hodgins nodded, "Good deal."

To Booth's relief, Brennan didn't contradict him.

Soon, they were pulling up at his apartment building, and he and Hodgins went around to the trunk to unload his and Brennan's luggage.

~(B*B)~

While the guys pulled the bags out of the trunk, Angela pulled Brennan aside.

"You alright with this, Sweetie?"

Brennan's eyes darted to Booth. "Sure, perfectly fine…it's just for a few days."

Angela's eyebrows drew together. "I thought the doctors said you shouldn't be alone for a few _weeks_."

Shrugging, Brennan replied, "Not necessary. I'm only agreeing to this to placate Booth."

Angela laughed a little, shaking her head. "Sweetie, _you_ don't placate anyone. Ever." She paused. "It's okay if there's a different reason."

Brennan stared at her, but before she could response, Booth called, "Bones?"

She turned; he was standing with most of the bags in his arms, with Hodgins taking the few remaining. He gave her a nervous smile, "Ready?"

Brennan glanced at the apartment building, where she'd lived for most of the past month. She'd thought she wasn't coming back to it; and she'd definitely thought she'd never be there with Booth again.

"Yeah, I'm ready." She walked to Hodgins, about to take some bags, but Booth nearly yelped at her in protest.

"Hey! No way, Bones, no carrying anything."

Brennan rolled her eyes, and before she could protest, Hodgins assured her, "I got this, Dr. B, won't take but a second."

With that, Booth started toward the apartment, Hodgins behind him. "Coming, Bones?"

"Yes, just one second…" She turned back to Angela and was suddenly engulfed in a hug.

"If you need anything, you call me, alright, Bren? Promise to call."

Brennan pulled back and gave her best friend what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I will, Ange. Thanks for everything."

At this, Angela hugged her again, tight, blinking hard. "I'll see you soon, Sweetie. And, listen…" she drew back, "…think about what we talked about, okay? That first day in the hospital I mean."

Brennan nodded the slightest bit, and then turned to follow Booth into the apartment.

Upstairs, Hodgins hung around only long enough to drop the bags and say goodnight, and then Booth and Brennan were alone.

They stood there for a moment, quiet, and then Booth smiled at her awkwardly. It was strange, somehow, seeing him standing in the middle of his own living room.

She'd thought coming back to DC with Booth would make everything feel the way it used to be, back before he was shot. But for a month, that time of her life had felt so distant and unattainable. Instead, she felt like she was back to the way life was a week ago, and it was Booth's presence that seemed precarious and surreal.

Booth broke the silence, his voice determinedly cheerful, "I don't know about you, Bones, but I'm exhausted."

She nodded, "I'm a little tired, too."

He dropped the bags still in his arms in a pile behind the couch, keeping only the smallest one, which he handed to her, correctly assuming it contained various toiletries. "We can do all the unpacking tomorrow. I'm beat." Seeing a question on her face, he added, "You can go ahead in the bathroom."

"Thanks." Brennan waited until he turned his back on her to pick up another suitcase and carried it with her toward Booth's bedroom as he pressed the play button on his answering machine.

As soon as she entered the bedroom, Brennan's stomach pitched forward. It was exactly the way she'd left it, the photos and the ties and the socks everywhere. She listened for a moment to Booth's movements in the next room, and even though she knew he's spent a night here already, had seen all this, she began to hurriedly tear down photographs, stuffing his accessories back in their drawers.

When she was done, Brennan went into the bathroom, which also held clear indicators of her presence. Her first instinct was to sleep everything she'd left away, but that was irrational considering they would be sharing the bathroom for the next few days.

After she washed her face and brushed her teeth, Brennan ran into another problem. She'd been sleeping in Booth's T-shirts for weeks now, and she didn't have anything else.

Feeling foolish, she stuffed the T-shirts to the bottom of her suitcase, then rummaged through until she found a tank top and a pair of shorts that would have to work for now.

Yanking her hair out of its ponytail, Brennan opened the door to find Booth sitting on the edge of his bed, looking through the photos she'd left stacked on his dresser.

Brennan felt the heat rise to her face, but Booth just smiled easily at her, standing and place the pile back where he'd found them.

"Good timing," he said, walking past her toward the bathroom. He turned in the doorway, eyes sparkling suddenly, an unmistakable charm smile in place. "You look nice."

Brennan flushed again. Only Booth would say something like that now, just before she went to bed, no makeup and a ridiculous outfit and her hair in chaotic waves around her shoulders.

The door clicked behind him, and Brennan suddenly realized how exhausted she was. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept more than three hours at a time, and all the walking she'd done had worn on her more than she'd ever admit.

Moving on autopilot, following a routine, Brennan flicked off the lamp and crawled into bed, just as she always did.

Only five minutes later, when the bathroom door opened and light flooded the room, did Brennan look up, see Booth staring at her in surprise, and remember that things were different now.

"Oh…" Booth started, but before he could follow it up, Brennan cut him off hastily.

"Sorry, I…I wasn't thinking, I've just gotten used to…" she trailed off, and started to slide to the other side of the bed, wondering if she'd just plainly revealed that she'd been deliberately sleeping on his side.

"No, hey, it's fine," Booth assured her quickly; he'd forgotten she'd been sleeping here, in his room, for a month. Of course she'd have developed a routine. "I made up the Parker's room, I don't mind taking it…"

Brennan froze, her eyes swinging over to meet his. "Oh…Parker's room."

Booth was beginning to feel uneasy. He'd assumed that even the suggestion of sharing his bed would have sent Brennan into an immediate freak out and shut down. After all, even at the hospital, they never started out that way. And she'd barely wanted to come here…

Brennan stared at Booth, lips pressed together, unsure of what to do. She shouldn't need him to fall asleep. She wasn't a child. They were in the same apartment, that should be sufficient enough. "No, it's fine, I can take Parker's room…"

"It makes no difference to me, Bones, believe me. You're already…I'll just go."

He was at the door when her voice stopped him. "Booth, wait…"

Turning, he looked at her, waiting. Brennan's expression was conflicted, unsure. And scared.

"Bones," he said gently. "You want me to stay, I'll stay."

"I…" She bit her lip, falling silent, and Booth felt a quick flash of frustration.

He took a step closer. "Just ask, Bones. Just ask me to stay."

For a moment, silence reigned, each holding the others gaze, Booth's almost challenging, Brennan's torn. Then, looking away, she said, forcing a casual tone, "It just seems unnecessary for you to be ejected from your own bedroom, Booth."

Frustration flashed again, and Booth was tempted to insist, or to point out that she could take Parker's room if that was the case. But then her eyes flitted back to his, and melted his anger instantly.

Her expression was a mixture of fear and pleading. The fear nearly broke him, like it always did, but it was the pleading that killed him. She was lying, and she knew that Booth was fully aware that she was lying. She was begging him, silently, to let her lie.

So he nodded. "Good point."

Relieved, Brennan slid over and gave him a small smile of thanks that made his heart catch. Booth crawled into the covers next to her, suddenly slightly self-conscious, and very, very aware that he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

Turning off the lamp Bones had turned back on when he'd entered, Booth relaxed a little in the darkness. "Night, Bones."

"Good night, Booth," she answered softly, and he smiled against his pillow, closing his eyes.

~(B*B)~

Brennan closed her eyes, trying to sleep. She'd been exhausted just minutes before, but suddenly she was wide awake.

The thing was, she'd never thought she'd be sleeping in this bed with Booth.

It sounded ridiculous, even in her head. But for weeks she'd lay awake for hours, alone in his bed, his bedroom, his apartment…wishing she'd been laying there when he was alive, when he could have been next to her.

And now it was happening. But she didn't trust it.

When Booth's breathing grew slow and even, Brennan shifted from her back to her side, watching him with an intensity that mirrored the way she'd stared at his photograph, the first night she'd been here. As if it was her last chance to commit him to memory.

Her eyes fell on his chest, rising and falling peacefully, and Brennan noticed for the first time the pinkish scar tissue where he'd been shot.

Brennan stared at it dizzily, her chest tight and vision blurring as she thought of blood pulsing between her fingers, the light leaving his eyes, her friends pulling her away and how, at almost the same moment, he'd lost consciousness.

~(B*B)~

Booth had barely been asleep half an hour when a foot collided with his shin.

He woke up, only dimly aware of his surrounding, and could hear the rustle of sheets next to him.

He'd learned, over the past week and a half, that Bones wasn't a fidgety sleeper. She stayed pretty still once she'd drifted off.

"Bones?" he spoke into the darkness. The fidgeting stopped. "You're still awake?"

Turning his head to the side, he could just see her eyes in the darkness, wide and watching him. "Yeah," she admitted quietly.

Booth shifted slightly, his hand searching under the covers. Soon, it found hers and he slid his fingers into hers, squeezing once, gently.

After a moment, her voice floated over him. "Thank you."

~(B*B)~

_She wakes up in his apartment, and the sheets are cold. Her arm is spread next to her, her hand open but empty. Sitting up, Brennan blinks sleep from her eyes and calls his name, "Booth?"_

_Sunlight streams into the room. Confused, Brennan takes in her surroundings. The photographs are back where they had been. His socks and ties. _

_Shaking her head, Brennan decides she must not have taken them down. She was extremely sleep deprived and exhausted last night…she's obviously remembering wrong._

_Her barefeet pad across the hardwood floors as she leaves the bedroom, scanning the apartment. "Booth?" His keys are lying on the table. She searches the countertops, the refrigerator for a note. Finds nothing._

_A thought seizes her, and she heads to Parker's room, mortified to think that she somehow drove him out of his own bedroom in the middle of the night. Did she kick? Snore? He had never complained in the hospital._

"_Booth?"_

_The bed is made up, untouched._

_Panic's rising, but Brennan tries to push it away. "Booth?" The pitch of her voice lifted. "Booth!"_

_The phone rings._

_Brennan nearly runs to the kitchen and grabs the phone. "Hello?"_

"_Hey, Sweetie."_

_Her shoulders sag in relief. "Angela, do you know where Booth went?"_

_There's a long silence, and then Angela asks hoarsely, "Bren, honey, what are you talking about?"_

_Her stomach is in knots, but she insists, "I woke up and I don't know where Booth went."_

_Another silence on the other end of the line, then she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. There were muffled voices, and then Angela said, "Sweetie, Booth…Booth's dead. You know that, Bren."_

_Her knees shake beneath her, and sudden there is no air in her lugs. Her voice trembling, she protests, "No, no, no Ange, he…it was fake, Cullen just didn't tell me like he was supposed to…"_

_Her voice thick, Angela insists, "Bren, you had a dream. Okay? You know Booth isn't…you know he isn't coming back."_

_Brennan places a shaking hand on the counter to steady herself. Something inside of her bursts, pain overtaking her senses. She puts a hand on her stomach; there's no scar. The room spins._

"…_Brennan? Bren, I'm coming over, alright? I'll be there in a minute…"_

_The white tile of the countertop is slick under her palm. Blood is staining it, spreading. _

_Brennan falls into blackness._

She woke up on her own.

Usually after a nightmare like that, vivid and startlingly detailed, Booth's had to shake her awake, when her whimpers or screams have woken him up.

But tonight, Brennan's eyes flew open and met Booth's ceiling.

During the night, somehow, she'd lost her grip on his hand, but he'd apparently moved closer to her, because the first thing Brennan was aware of him was his leg, tangled with hers.

Still, she was trembling violently, her heart hammering erratically, so much so that her chest ached. Her breaths were coming out in harsh, uneven bursts, and Brennan rolled onto her stomach, pressing her face against the pillow the muffle the gasps.

The pillowcase was quickly soaked in the cold sweat that was covering her body, making her shiver.

Brennan didn't even realize it when she started to cry, but within moments her throat felt swollen with the effort of choking back sobs.

It was ridiculous. Even more so than the other nightmares, which were to a certain extent reliving moments that had certainly happened.

But that one…it was impossible. Getting upset over it was irrational.

When she had regained control, Brennan turned once again on her side, looking at her sleeping partner.

Her eyes sought the place on his chest, but it was too dark to make out the scar.

_He didn't die_, she told herself fiercely. _He could have, but he didn't, and that's it. That's what happened._

For the first time, however, a new, frightening thought occurred to her.

_But that doesn't mean he won't next time._

~(B*B)~

Booth woke up around 9:30 to find Brennan still lying next to him, already awake, looking tired and anxious in spite of the full night's sleep.

"Morning," he smiled blearily at her. "You sleep alright?'

"Great," she replied, a ghost of a smile flickering briefly across her face before she swiftly sat up, muttering something about a shower.

Booth sighed, flopping back on his pillow (which, incidentally, still smelled like Bones) as the bathroom door closed behind her.

He'd have thought they could maybe avoid the routine morning shutdown, especially considering he hadn't had to shake her awake in the middle of a nightmare for once.

~(B*B)~

By the time Brennan got out of the shower, finished drying her hair, and gotten dressed in dark jeans and a simple red top, she could smell pancakes.

Brennan wandered into the kitchen to find Booth setting the table.

Looking up, he grinned at her. "Hungry?"

Booth had pulled on a T-shirt with his boxers and was padding barefoot around the kitchen, fixing a spread of eggs, pancakes, toast and bacon.

"Don't worry," he added, smirking. "The bacon's just for me." He made a show of pulling out a chair at the table for her, and when Brennan said nothing, he clarified unnecessarily, "I made breakfast."

The statement was so blatantly obvious, Brennan would have laughed if it wasn't for the lump that had inexplicably formed in her throat. Swallowing hard, she smiled at him. "It looks great, Booth."

He smiled proudly, taking the other seat at the table. "I've got nothing on you and your famous mac and cheese, of course, but I'm not too shabby in the kitchen."

The mention of the mac and cheese made Brennan's stomach turn slightly; she thought of the half cooked pot of macaroni, left on the stove at Hodgins' mountain house, the blood flowing onto her hand. Brennan's eyes flicked automatically to her wrist, and unfortunately, Booth's gaze followed.

He frowned, leaning forward a little. "What happened there, Bones?"

She dropped her wrist automatically into her lap and replied shortly, all traces of warmth gone from her tone, "Nothing."

For a moment, Booth was confused, but then his gut lurched unpleasantly as Angela's words came back to him.

_The same reason she hadn't buckled her helmet when she fell rappelling a week and a half ago. The same reason she sliced her wrist with a knife that same day_

Pushing the image from his head, he tried his best to pick up the thread of conversation and, to his relief, he was soon making her laugh at a story about he and his roommate setting off the firealarm in his college dorm, trying to make a birthday cake for the roommate's girlfriend.

At one point, though, Brennan looked at the clock and then back at him, questioningly. "Do you have to go into work today?"

"No, I'm taking a couple more days off." Booth's face hardened. "Believe me, Cullen _won't_ have a problem with it."

Brennan didn't understand the unmistakable relief that bubbled up inside her at these words. Still, she only said, "Oh, alright."

Booth shook his head a little, face muscles tightened. "Cullen. You know he had the nerve to tell me I'll understand why it was all worth it?" He laughed humorlessly. "I shouldn't even work for that bastard anymore. I can't respect him, you know?"

Her voice tense, Brennan asked, "Can we talk about something else?"

Blinking confusedly at her, Booth answered, "Yeah, sure. But just know, if you wanted to talk to him, or yell at him…even assault him, I'll gladly take you down there." He smiled a little. "I'm serious. I got in one good punch and I _work_ for him. You could probably give him one of those ass kickings you love so much."

"No."

"No?" Booth repeated, incredulous. "You aren't pissed at him?"

"He was doing his job," Brennan said flatly. "His priority was his investigation."

Booth was staring at her, disbelieving. "He lied, Bones. He made the decision not to tell you, he sat there and blatantly _lied_, to both of us, and you aren't pissed at him? Yet, me, the guy who had no idea…I get kicked out of your damn hospital room?"

Brennan flinched, glancing away from him. "I asked if we could talk about something else."

There was a beat of silence, then Booth spoke, his voice low. "Sure, okay, Bones. Let's talk about something else. Angela told me you guys went rappelling…what happened there?" Brennan glared at him, anger flashing in her eyes, and said nothing. "That have something to do with that scar on your wrist, or was that something else?"

Brennan stood abruptly, practically vibrating with anger. "I don't think I'm very hungry."

Following her into the living room, Booth persisted heatedly, as though she wasn't walking away, refusing to answer, "_Or_ we could start with the simple question of who told you? What about the funeral? Or when did you move into my apartment? You could give me _anything_."

Brennan whirled, her face paper white, eyes livid. "Are you just looking for a way to stroke your own ego? What, going around to everyone who thought you were dead and making them describe how sad they were?"

This stopped him, momentarily, as Booth merely gaped at her. After a moment, he spluttered, "No, of course not! You, you made me tell you everything, and I told you! You asked _once_, and I told you."

Clenching her jaw, Brennan shot back, "You told me about being bored, twiddling your toes-"

"Thumbs."

Brennan raised her voice as though he hadn't corrected her, "-at a safehouse for a month. It isn't the same."

Booth laughed derisively. "Yeah, because that was really a blast. Being away from home for a month, not able to leave the property for so much as a jog, nothing to do, waiting for the phone call I _might _get from my son. You think I was relaxing? That I didn't miss working, miss Parker, miss _you_? You think I _liked_ not talking to you for a month?"

Eyes narrowing, Brennan asked, "Anyone there have a cell phone?"

Booth's shoulders dropped. "_Fine_. Fine, you win, I'm an idiot. An inconsiderate, jackass of a moron, alright? You've always thought that, and now it's confirmed, right? I didn't call, I should have, and I wish I had…that's all I can do now. But see this is my point…you've been making this my fault for the past two weeks, and it's _not_, not entirely, maybe even not And maybe if you tell me some things I don't know, I can at least understand how big of a mistake I made, right?"

Brennan folded her arms protectively in front of her chest. "It has nothing to do with you."

He was gaping again. "Are you _kidding _me?"

Flustered, Brennan clarified, "Nothing to do with you _now_. Everything that happened when we thought you were dead, it doesn't affect you."

Before he could stop himself, the words were flying from Booth's mouth, "Except I'm the one making sure you're okay from the massive stab wounds you got from a fucking _serial killer_ you purposefully went after, _and_ I'm the one making sure you're okay when you wake up with nightmares you won't talk about! And you say it doesn't _affect_ me? That there's no reason for me to know anything?"

Two bright spots of color had appeared on Brennan's pale cheeks, and she stared at Booth, wide eyed.

As the silence settled, the argument not continuing as he'd thought it would, Booth was able to decipher the insensitivity and almost malicious intent his words suggested.

Before he could come up with a way to backtrack, Brennan shook her head a little, then disappeared into the bedroom, emerging moments later with her laptop. She sat in the recliner furthest away from him in the living room and stared at the screen, very deliberately ignoring him.

Booth sighed, and, after a brief debate on whether to try to move forward, turned around and walked back to the kitchen, clearing the plates from the table, feeling like an idiot.

Fifteen minutes ago, they'd been fantastic.

Things could fall apart pretty quickly.

After he cleared the plates, he stared around his apartment, at a loss for what to do now. Finally, he decided to do what he'd always do, and positioned himself on the couch, turning on the television.

Brennan, in the chair to his left, didn't look up or otherwise acknowledge his closer proximity. Still, Booth couldn't believe that conversation hadn't ended with the slamming of his apartment door.

~(B*B)~

Brennan didn't understand why she was still sitting in his living room, less than ten feet away from him, when every instinct in her body had told her to get as far away as possible.

But she still had the images from the nightmare in her mind, wandering the apartment, looking for him, slipping seamlessly between realities.

_Just walk out_, her inner squint voice, the one that was all about logic and reason, told her. _He'll be here when you get back._

Still, even as she acknowledged this unwavering fact, Brennan stayed in the chair, trying to ignore Booth and tune out the noise from the television. She opened up the document for her latest novel, but the words she'd written in a fit of grief suddenly made her feel sick. She closed it quickly; she didn't need anything reminding her how horrible she'd felt.

They sat there for an hour, five feet apart but pretending to be in different places entirely. Booth stared almost dazedly at the television, clicking the remote every few minutes to change the channel, while Brennan stared at her computer blankly, unable to think of anything to do.

After what seemed like forever, Booth leaned forward on the couch, sighed heavily, and flicked off the TV, finally turning his head to look at Brennan. "I'm sorry."

She didn't answer, or look up.

"Bones? Look, I'm saying I'm sorry."

Slowly, she raised her head to look at him, expression blank. "No, you aren't."

He attempted a smile. "Sure, I am, listen, I'll say it again…I'm sorry."

Brennan frowned, not taking the bait on his attempt to lighten the mood. "I wasn't refuting the fact that you said you were sorry. I was refuting the statement itself. You aren't sorry. You got angry at me."

Booth sighed. "Yeah, I did, Bones, but I said some things I shouldn't have. _That_ I am sorry for."

Her eyes flicked back to the computer screen. "It's okay."

"Hey…" Booth waited until Brennan reluctantly looked up at him. "Do you still think it was my fault?"

Holding his gaze, Brennan felt her anger soften. "No, I don't."

Booth shrugged a little helplessly, "I'm tired of fighting with you, Bones."

"Me, too," she nearly whispered. "Just…stop asking me. Please."

Booth nodded a little, unconsciously glancing at the wrist, where he could just see the pale scar.

He wasn't sure exactly what was driving his need to know what she'd been through. He had enough bits and pieces from Angela to know how bad it had been…it would have had to be, considering where it had all ended up.

He hated that she'd had to suffer. And for some stupid, irrational reason, he felt like he somehow, if he just knew everything, he'd be able to fix it.

Of course there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. But Booth was a man who had to fix things, at least had to _try_ to make things right.

"Bones?" Booth clasped his hands in front of him, staring down at them.

"Yeah?"

"Will you come with me somewhere tonight?"

He expected her to ask questions, to demand more information, maybe even try to refuse. Instead, Brennan answered immediately, "Yes."

Lifting his head, Booth smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

~(B*B)~

Brennan was doing her best to resist the instinct to demand some sort of explanation. After what happened earlier, she didn't want to provoke even the bickering that used to be the norm for them. And after her dream last night, there had never been a chance she'd refuse to go with him…wherever they were going.

It was about six that night, and they'd been in the car for about ten minutes when Brennan finally couldn't stop herself. They were driving through a residential neighborhood "Booth, what exactly-"

He grinned. "You'll like it, I promise. We have to make a quick stop though."

A moment later, he turned on a street and pulled up on the curb in front of a house. "Wait one sec, okay?"

Booth had barely gotten his seatbelt off when Parker Booth came tearing out of the house, dragging a backpack, and barreling down the sidewalk toward them.

Brennan instantly relaxed, and she couldn't help but smile as Booth stepped out of the car door and Parker collided with his father.

"Daddy!"

Booth pulled Parker up into his arms. "Missed you, buddy." Rebecca, who had appeared in the doorway, waved.

"I'll pick him up tomorrow, Seeley."

"Thanks, Bec." Booth returned Parker to the ground. "Did you say hey to Bones?"

Parker's head whipped around to the car, and instantly his eyes lit up, delighted. "Bones!"

A smile spreading, Brennan opened the passenger door, and Parker immediately leaped up, hugging her. "Daddy didn't tell me you were coming!"

"He didn't tell me, either."

Booth put a hand on his son's shoulder. "It was a surprise for everyone, buddy. Ready to go?"

He nodded, scrambling down from the car and climbing into the backseat, waving at his mom as he did.

Soon, they were pulling off again, Parker talking enough for all of them.

"Bones? How come you were in the hospital? Did you get hurt by a bad guy?" Before Brennan could answer, he moved on, "Did she, Dad? Did you put someone in jail? This was a lot shorter than the really, really long trip. Did you fly on a plane?"

Brennan's head was spinning, but Booth just smiled and answered, "Yeah, buddy, Bones got hurt by a bad guy, but we made sure he wouldn't hurt anyone else, and she's okay now. This trip _was_ a lot shorter. We flew on a plane back home so we could get here quick and see you."

Parker nodded, then addressed Brennan again, "Were you scared in the hospital, Bones?"

Brennan paused, feeling Booth watching her, then answered, "Sometimes."

"I had to go to the 'mergencey room once when I hurt my wrist at tee-ball. I was a little scared at first, but then I wasn't anymore. I had a blue cast. Have you ever had a cast, Bones?"

Brennan was so busy answering Parker's questions, along with Booth, that she forgot to wonder where else they were going; until, that is, they pulled into a familiar parking lot.

Booth smiled brightly. "Who's hungry?"

Brennan glanced around. "This is the big secret? The diner?"

They started across the parking lot, Parker slipping his hand automatically into his father's, and surprising Brennan by doing the same to her on his other side.

"Told you you'd like it," Booth said, still smiling at her.

Her heart hitching a little in her chest, Brennan thought of the last time she'd come by the diner, her last night in DC before leaving for Seattle, when she'd been visiting anyplace significant to them. Then she remembered the last time she'd actually been in, ordering the pie he hadn't been there to eat.

Glancing at Parker, another memory flashed into her mind; Parker in the shopping mall, cheerfully inviting her to go to the diner with he and Booth when Booth came back. At the time, she hadn't thought that was possible, and yet here they were.

Suddenly teetering precariously on the edge of tears, Brennan stopped walking. Booth looked back at her. "You alright, Bones?"

She nodded hard, trying to disguise the catch in her voice, "I'm fine, you two go on in."

Concern etched in his features, Booth peered at her, "Everything okay?"

"Yes, of course, I just…" she looked at him, apologetic. "I just need a second."

"Sure, okay…" Booth glanced down at his son, who was peering up at Brennan in confusion. "Come on, Parker, let's go get our favorite booth, alright, buddy?"

"Okay," Parker agreed. "You are coming, though, right, Bones?"

Brennan smiled tremulously. "Yeah, Parker, I'll be right in."

Satisfied, the boy followed his dad into the diner, leaving her on the sidewalk, sucking in deep breaths and trying to blink away the tears filling her eyes, pushing away thoughts reminding her of how close she'd come to never having this again.

~(B*B)~

"Is Bones okay, Daddy?" Parker asked as he slid into the booth next to his father.

"Yeah, I think so, bud."

"Cuz she kind of looked like she did in the mall that time I saw her. Like Mommy does when she's about to cry but tries to smile anyway. Like she's sad. But when I saw her that time at the mall, Mommy said Bones was probably just sad because she missed you, like I did." The boy scrunched up his face in concentration. "But you're right here, so that isn't why she's sad now, right?"

Booth exhaled slowly, glancing at the door. "You know, Parks, it's sort of confusing stuff. Before I took my really long trip, I got hurt by a bad person at work, when Bones was with me. And I'm okay, but it was pretty scary for her to see me get hurt like that, especially when I was about to go away for such a long trip. And then last week, Bones got hurt by a different bad guy. So she's had a pretty scary month, and sometimes it makes her sad. Does that make sense?"

Parker nodded, "Sorta. But we can cheer her up, right?"

Booth's throat tightened, and he ruffled his son's hair. "Yeah, buddy. We can."

Seconds later, Brennan entered the diner and slid across from them in the booth. "Sorry about that."

"No problem."

The next half hour passed comfortably, Parker dominating the conversation as he alternated between streams of questions and long, detailed anecdotes about school or baseball. Booth loved the warmth that seemed to surround him, the comfort and familiarity of the scene.

"Can I get you desert?" Their waitress, thankfully not the same one who'd served Brennan a few weeks before, asked as she cleared their plates.

"Yes, we're going to each have a piece of chocolate pie," he indicated himself and Parker. "And, Bones…cheesecake?"

"Please."

"And a piece of regular cheesecake. Thanks."

"Bones doesn't like pie," Parker informed the waitress as she wrote down the order, causing Booth and Brennan to laugh and the waitress to shoot him a confused smile.

"I gotta go to the bathroom, Daddy."

"Need me to take you?"

Parker shook his curls vehemently. "I can do it."

"Okay, come straight back. And wash your hands." Booth watched Parker walk the short distance to the bathroom, then turned to Brennan and smiled easily. "I've missed this."

Brennan nodded, "The food _is_ delicious."

"Not just the food, but…" He waved a hand vaguely. "This. That's why I wanted to come tonight, when Parker was going to be over…when I was at the safehouse, Parker called once and told me he'd invited you to come to the diner with us when I got back. And after that…it was like I couldn't get it out of my head. All I wanted was to be able to come here, with you and with Parker. That was what I missed. You two…were what I missed."

Damn it; her eyes were welling with tears again, and before Brennan could stop herself, words were spilling from her lips, "I only came here once when you were…when you were gone. And I left without eating anything." She nearly admitted ordering the pie for him, but was able to stop herself from admitting that much.

Booth's eyes never left Brennan's, and he was afraid to reply, to undermine the importance of the moment. She'd just voluntarily offered him a small detail, and the incorrect response could prevent it from ever happening again.

Luckily, the waitresses arrival with their deserts, followed immediately by Parker's return.

At the end of the night, though, just after Booth closed Parker's car door, Brennan smiled almost shyly at him, then leaned over and hugged him, briefly but tight. "Thanks, Booth."

Flushing a little, Booth blinked at her, "For what?"

"Just thanks."

~(B*B)~

When Brennan fell asleep that night, Booth's fingers laced with hers between them in his bed, she was feeling more content than she had a in long time.

They'd spent the past few hours with Parker, a stretch of movie watching that escalated to a popcorn fight, which then, when they ran out of popcorn, turned into a tickle fight.

At first they'd merely alternated catching Parker and tickling his ribs, Brennan delighting in the high pitched peals of laughter it never failed to evoke in the six year old.

But then, Parker had yelled, "Tickle Bones!" and Booth had grinned slyly and complied.

An hour ago, they'd put the exhausted boy to bed, and to Brennan's surprise, she'd been asked to stay in his room while Booth read a bedtime story. They'd perched on the edge of the bed, each on an opposite side, while Booth read _Where the Wild Things Are_, apparently a favorite.

When the story was over, Parker's brown eyes were heavy with sleep, and after he'd hugged Booth, he lifted his arms to Brennan, sleepily muttering, "Night, Bones…"

She hugged him back, and caught Booth watching them, his eyes soft and bright, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Now, as Brennan moved a little closer to Booth, she silently admitted to herself that she wished every night could be like this.

She fell asleep within minutes.

~(B*B)~

_She's standing on the side of the road, waiting for him. He's supposed to pick her up._

_It's dark, and raining, and she's tired of waiting. She wants to see him._

_She sees the headlights coming around the curve, piercing the blackness of night, and her pulse quickens with anticipation. His car comes into view; almost there._

_There are no other cars on the road, and then all of sudden, there is. A truck, careening from nowhere, and then it's slamming into the side of his car, sending it spinning off the road. There's the sickening crunch of metal hitting metal, the squeal of brakes, and then his scream, echoing._

_A scream rips from her chest up her throat, and she begins to run, her feet pounding the pavement, muscles burning. She can get to him, she can save him. But the road in front of Brennan of her stretches on, the distance barely diminishing._

_At last, she drops on her knees in front of his door; the car is on its side. Wrenching the door off its hinges, Brennan hooks her hands underneath Booth's arms and drags him out with difficult, dropping into the wet grass, his head in her lap._

_He isn't moving. There are sirens far away, but they don't seem to be getting closer._

_She says his name, over and over again. She begs him to open his eyes. She finally presses her fingers to his wrist, shaking as she searches for a pulse._

_Nothing._

_She keeps begging. "Booth, please, open your eyes, please, oh, please, you can do this, you're okay, just look at me, Booth…"_

_He slips from her grip, his body crumpling on the wet grass._

_She kneels next to him, helpless. "No, no, no, no, Booth, no, no…"_

_It started out as a whimper, a quiet plea, but soon she's screaming it again and again until her throat is raw, but still he doesn't wake up._

"_NO, no, no, no_, no, no, NO! Booth, no, no, please…"

"Bones! Bones, c'mon, wake up!"

Brennan's eyes flew open and met Booth's, bent over her, looking frightened. She was shivering violently, her face soaked with tears, and her throat was rough from screaming.

Booth had one hand tangled in her hair, the other cupping her face gently, his thumb swiping at the tears that were still streaming. "You're okay, I'm right here…"

She pressed a trembling hand over Booth's chest, feeling his heartbeat, and he didn't ask her why.

"Daddy?" A small, uncertain voice said from the doorway.

"Parker…" Booth glanced over, only able to make out the short silhouette of his son. "Everything's okay, buddy."

"I heard screaming. A lot."

"I know, but…Bones just had a bad dream…"

Brennan felt dazed, disconnected from everything around her. It had been too real, too vivid…and it wasn't like the shooting dreams, which she could remember so vividly because it had actually happened.

This…this was a complete fabrication. She was dreaming the other ways he could die.

Because he could.

"Go back to bed, okay, little man? I love you."

Parker didn't move. "Is Bones okay?"

"She'll be fine, Parks. Go ahead."

Booth's gaze returned to Brennan. "Are you alright? What happened?"

She shook her head, then leaned forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder. Booth wrapped an arm securely around her. "Come on, Bones…let's lay back down…" Gently he guided her back to a lying position, his arm still wrapped around her, her head on his chest. "Everything's fine, just go back to sleep…"

But Brennan lay awake for the rest of the night.

**Okay, so there's that chapter. The explosion I hinted at hasn't happened yet. It was supposed to happen in this chapter, but I realized how lengthy it would be to get from where we were to the…explosion. Which hopefully will be a very powerful moment. So I cut us off here, instead, and hopefully the crazy intense, emotional conflicted stuff has set everything up nicely. Please tell me what you liked (or didn't)! I'll try to work on the next one faster…with the premiere a week away my focus on non-Bones related work will be severely diminished.**


	14. Feeling a Moment

_**Author's Note (Important): **__Hey, all! Once, again, very sorry for the hiatus…as I've said, my semester is pretty crazy, and I've been grabbing writing time whenever I can. Still, I think by the end of tonight you're really going to like me. See, I've been working on this chapter here and there, usually on writing a page or two at a time when I've had a second. And because of that, I lose concept of length. And this one was getting vaguely epic. BUT I didn't want to put off the big 'explosive' moment (emotional, not literal) I've been promising for another whole update._

_So what I'm going to do is post this chapter, slightly shorter, right now (obviously) and, later on tonight, post the next one. It'll be slightly shorter, but it's going to be a pretty big one. So keep an eye out within the next few hours for the next chapter, explosion included. That being said, I do love this chapter. _

_I'd love reviews on both of tonight's chapters…they make my day, seriously, and I like to hear what you think of ALL of it, so this way, certain events in the next one won't eclipse everything leading up to it. Chapter title comes from Feeder's Feeling a Moment, which I strongly recommend looking up, because not only is it great, but it's a really good song for Brennan in this whole story._

_Have I mentioned you guys are the greatest readers ever? Sorry for making you wait, and I hope these make up for it at least a little. _

_Chapter Fourteen_

_Feeling a Moment_

_Turning to face what you've become,  
Buried the ashes of someone  
Broken by the strain  
Trying to fill that space inside  
Am I just like you?  
All the things you do - can't help myself_

How do you feel when there's no sun?  
And how will you be when rain clouds come and pull you down again?  
How will you feel when there's no one?  
Am I just like you?  
All the things you do

Don't ever feel that you're alone  
I'll never let you down, I'll never leave you dry  
Don't fall apart, don't let it go  
Carry the notion, carry the notion back to me, to me...

"Daddy?"

Booth, who was already awake but had been lying still for the past twenty minutes, lifted his head, which had been nestled against the crown of Brennan's, and smiled at his son, who was standing small in the doorway. "Ssh, buddy. Bones is asleep."

Parker nodded, staring avidly at the scene in front of him. In his best indoor voice, he asked, "Is she alright?"

Booth nodded, threading his fingers absently through Brennan's head. "She's okay now, Parks."

Stage whispering, Parker stated, "I'm hungry."

Booth hesitated, glancing down at Brennan, who was sleeping peacefully for once. She was curled against him, head resting between his neck and shoulder. She had spent nearly two hours last night with her face buried against his neck, silent and trembling, before she'd finally fallen back to sleep.

So Booth was torn between letting her sleep and making sure she didn't wake up alone.

"Daddy?" Parker repeated, a little louder.

"Ssh, okay, I'm up, I'm up."

Gingerly, Booth extracted his arm from around Brennan, then gently shifted so only the pillow was underneath her.

Grinning, Parker dashed from the bedroom into the kitchen, Booth behind him.

Leaving the bedroom door barely cracked, Booth began to speak more normally, "What do you want for breakfast, pal?"

"Can I have waffles? With the syrup and the whip cream?"

Booth smile. "Waffles with syrup _and_ whip cream coming up."

He began working on the waffles, while Parker settled himself patiently at the table to wait. "Hey, Daddy?"

"Hmmm?" Booth asked, sticking the cinnamon Eggo waffles into the toaster.

"What kind of bad dream did Bones have? Cuz I have bad dreams sometimes and I don't think I scream like that." Parker paused, a contemplative look melding his features. "_Do_ I scream like that?"

Booth smiled slightly. "No, buddy, you don't scream like that." The smile faded. "Bones has been having some pretty bad nightmares lately."

"About you getting hurt?" Booth raised his eyebrows, surprised. "You said she was with you when you got hurt and it scared her."

"Yeah, you're right, Parks. That's what the dreams are about."

Parker nodded. "That's why she's sleeping in bed with you, right?"

Booth flushed instantly, staring stupidly at the seven year old. "Huh?"

"Well, when I have a bad dream you or Mommy let me sleep in bed with you. So you let Bones sleep in bed with you because of her bad dreams, right?"

The waffles popped out of the toaster. "Right." Booth grabbed a plate and the syrup. "That's exactly why."

Spraying a dollop of whip cream on one of the three waffles, Booth placed the plate in front of Parker. He went to refrigerator for orange juice, when Brennan's voice, strangled and shaking, sounded from the bedroom, "Booth?!"

"One sec, buddy," Booth muttered hurriedly, leaving the fridge door open as he practically ran to the bedroom.

Brennan was sitting up in bed, her face pale, eyes darting wildly.

"Morning," he said, in as normal a tone as he could manage, swallowing an apology for not being there. "Parker wanted breakfast."

Brennan nodded hard, and Booth saw her draw a long, rattling breath. "Oh." She nodded again, her eyes intense on his face. "Okay."

Studying her, Booth cold see the fear still brimming in her eyes. "Bones," he said gently. "I'm _not_ going anywhere. I promise."

Brenan looked away, and when she lifted her face, it was different. The fear was gone, and her expression was carefully blank. "I know that, Booth." She stood quickly, heading to the bathroom.

"Bones?"

She stopped, not turning.

"Parker wants to go the park…eat lunch, kick a ball around. You want to come?"

There was only a nanosecond of hesitation. "Yes." She paused, then added, "Although I assume since I'm not yet cleared for work I won't be able to participate in any sports."

Booth grinned. "That's okay. You can watch and observe our mad skills."

Brennan frowned, "I don't know what that means."

His grin widened. "You'll see, Bones."

~(B*B)~

Hours later, the three of them were settled on a blanket, spread out on soft grass under the shade of a tree. Booth was divvying up the sandwiches they'd made before leaving (grilled cheese for Brennan, turkey for Booth, bologna for Parker).

"Bones? Can you open this, please?" Parker asked sweetly, thrusting the plastic wrapped straw from his juice box at her.

Brennan smiled easily at the boy. "Sure."

"Hey Bones?"

"Yes?"

Parker accepted the open straw she handed him, sticking it in the High C juice box. "After we eat our lunch, can you play soccer with me and my dad?"

Brennan smiled apologetically. "I can't, actually. I had surgery recently and am operating under decreased mobility; running could stretch my muscles in a way not conducive to…" Seeing the utterly confused look on Parker's face, as well as the look on Booth's face (torn between amusement and exasperation), Brennan stopped speaking and then began, "I was never very good at sports. It might be embarrassing."

Parker giggled. "Okay, Bones, you can be our cheerleader."

Booth let out a bark of laughter at the instant distaste apparent on Brennan's face. "I don't know if she likes that idea, Parks." Booth handed him his lunch on a plastic plate.

Parker shoved his sandwich into his mouth, shrugging, and speaking around the mouthful of food. "You don't hafta be the cheerleader, Bones. You can be like one of the people who watch."

"Alright," Brennan agreed, smiling at Booth over the top of Parker's head as he handed her a plate.

"Bones?" Parker tilted his head up to look at her. "One time I had a dream that I jumped off the diving board into the pool and went straight to the bottom, and in the dream I couldn't swim back up. I couldn't get out of the water. It was a scary dream, and when I woke up I could still remember all of it."

"Oh." Brennan looked down at him, his expression earnest. She wasn't sure what to say. "It…sounds like it would be scary."

"Is that how your bad dreams are? When you dream about Daddy being hurt?"

Booth's eyes moved from Parker to Brennan, and he tensed.

Brennan leaned down, a little closer to Parker, and said softly, "Sort of like that, yes."

Parker nodded solemnly. He and Brennan were looking at each other, serious, not noticing Booth, who was sitting frozen, his eyes on Brennan.

Parker's voice was small as he asked another question, "What happens? In the dream?"

Brennan held the boy's eyes silently for a moment, then looked up at Booth briefly. "You shouldn't worry about that, Parker," she told him finally, trying to smile. "I'll be okay."

Parker smiled and nodded, and Booth wished he had the ability to accept that so easily.

Ten minutes later, Booth and Parker were running around on the grass, the soccer ball skittering between them. Every few minutes, Parker would look over his shoulder a Brennan, still sitting on the picnic blanket, and call, "Bones! Bones! Watch this! Are you watching? Did you see?" And she would exclaim in all the right places, and Booth would throw her a grin.

Brennan had that feeling again, the feeling she'd been getting lately, like her heart was too large for her chest. She watched Booth running around on the grass, laughing with his son and smiling at her, happy and energetic and so very _alive_.

The problem was, she didn't trust reality anymore. The nightmares were as vivid as the scene in front of her, and understanding they were figments of her brain and her subconscious, it didn't make them feel less real. Waking up that morning, alone in bed, she might as well have been waking up into a nightmare. She'd been half convinced he was gone.

"Let's take a break, buddy, it's dessert time!" Booth was saying, and then Parker, eyes lit up, was crashing against her on the blanket.

"Bones!" He grinned up at her. "Did you see us?"

"I did," she told him. "Very impressive."

Parker beamed. "Daddy, too?"

Booth's eyes found Brennan's over Parker's head, and he winked. Flushing a little, Brennan smiled. "Him, too."

Booth grinned and held up a Tupperware container. "Cookies?"

~(B*B)~

That afternoon, Parker hugged her good bye when Rebecca came to get him. And when the door closed behind them, Booth smiled and told her she was good with Parker.

"He _loves_ you," Booth raved. "I know you think you're not good with kids, but I swear, it's really impressive."

"Impressive?"

"Yeah, you know impressive." He puffed out his chest grinning cockily. "Like you said I was today."

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Well, I couldn't very well tell your son I find you unimpressive."

Booth raised his index finger, as though making an important point, and waved it close to her face. "But _you_ don't believe in lying to kids, so you _weren't _lying, so you _do_ think I'm impressive." He grinned. "_Ha_."

She could feel the heat rising to her face, but Brennan managed to roll her eyes again. "I wasn't impressed by your athletic skills, as I assume you were playing on a level below your potential in order to make it more enjoyable for Parker."

"Good observation, Bones," Booth said dryly.

"Thank you, but I _was_ impressed with the way you interact with Parker." Her eyes softened a little. "You're a great father, Booth. I knew that already, of course, but when I see you with Parker…I always notice. How good you are with him."

The cocky, joking grin on Booth's face faded into a touched, sincere smile. "He's my son, Bones. I'm just…being his father. Nothing special about it."

"There is," she countered instantly. "You're an amazing father, Booth, and not everyone is."

"Thanks, Bones," Booth said softly, his tone grateful.

~(B*B)~

That night, Brennan cooked him macaroni and cheese. She fought the inevitable flashbacks to the night at the mountain house, by keeping Booth close. She kept him talking, the conversation flowing easily between them, so Booth wouldn't leave the room.

They spent the evening together, and he never asked her about the dreams or the month he was 'dead', or anything else that made her clam up and pull away. They sat on his couch for hours after dinner, watching reruns of old TV shows and talking, a bowl of popcorn between them.

And Brennan had that feeling again, the swelling in her chest. And Booth was thinking he could get used to this.

Brennan woke up at one in the morning, shaken awake by Booth, who was crouched in front of her on the couch, smoothing the hair back from her forehead.

"Hey…" He whispered softly, smiling a little teasingly. "You sleeping out here tonight, Bones? Or you want to come with me?"

Sleepily, Brennan nodded once, standing up. Booth slung an arm around her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked into the bedroom, the ease and intimacy feeling completely natural.

In the bedroom, her mind foggy with sleep, Brennan mechanically peeled off her clothes and put on a large T-shirt, one of Booths, too tired to remember to opt against it.

Brennan was in bed, already half-asleep again, when Booth emerged from the bathroom. He stopped short, looking down at her, curled up, eyes closed, wearing only his faded Flyers T-hirt. Booth couldn't not smile at a sight like that.

In the next second, Brennan heard a click as he flicked off the lamp, leaving the room in darkness. The bed gave slightly as Booth lay down next to her; she waited for Booth to grab her hand as usual, but instead he shifted on his side, behind her, and wiggled closer, draping an arm around her. Brennan stiffened momentarily, taken aback, but then she gradually relaxed against him.

"Night Bones," he murmured, his mouth inches from her ear. "I'll see you in the morning."

It seemed like a meaningless statement, but Brennan knew what he was really telling her. Booth was reminding her he'd still be there.

~(B*B)~

That night, it was the car accident again.

Sirens echoed in her ears, but no ambulance came. She'd pulled him from the car, and was kneeling in the grass, soaked from rain, while he bled out beneath her hands. She felt his heart stop beating and woke up screaming, "No!"

Booth's arms were already tightened around her arms, and he'd guided her to an almost sitting position in his attempt to wake her. His hand was pressed against the back of her hair, and when her eyes opened, he gently guided her head against his chest, stroking her hair and soothing her quietly, arms tightening around her.

Brennan was struggling to get enough air, and in spite of the fact that it was counterproductive, she buried her face in Booth's chest.

His fingers tangled in her hair. "You're okay, Bones, you're alright. Just breathe for me, that's it…"

She shook her head hard against him, gasping, "I, I can't…I…I…"

"Okay…okay, sit up, there you go…" Slightly alarmed, Booth shifted Brennan away from him, one hand gripping her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. "Take a deep breath, slowly….there you go…that's it. Easy…slowly, Bones, you're alright…Look at me…"

Brennan's eyes met his; her breaths were gradually evening out, slowing down.

Booth smiled a little, reassuringly. "You're okay, I'm right here."

Nodding, Brennan muttered, "I'm sorry….I'm sorry that this is…every night…"

"Don't apologize, Bones. It's fine, I promise....but I'm worried about you." He watched wariness settle over her panicked features, and hesitantly added, "Maybe you could talk to Sweets about some of this."

"No," she replied instantly. "I don't need psychology, it's a waste of…of time, and I don't need it, Booth. I'll be fine, I will."

"Okay," he amended quickly. "Okay, let's go back to sleep. You're alright."

Brennan nodded, and settled down against him, screwing her eyes shut.

Booth, still softly stroking her hair, stared down at Brennan, worry knotting in his stomach. He'd been so relieved that she wasn't pushing him away at night, that she was letting him take care of her, that he hadn't thought much beyond that. But he was starting to wonder if it was a bad sign that the nightmares were still going on so badly.

~(B*B)~

It was another good day. They went on a walk in the morning, something Brennan was supposed to be doing every few days. They went grocery shopping, and Booth laughed at her when she lectured him on healthy food. That night, they went over to Hodgins' for dinner with Angela and Jack.

Booth was surprised by how fun with was to hang out with the couple. Hodgins was a damn funny guy, and Booth liked the ease Angela and Brennan had together. He liked seeing Bones relaxed and smiling.

And when they left, and he was helping Bones with her coat and thanking Hodgins and Angela, all of them talking about how they should do this again, Booth let himself name the cause for the warm, content feeling that had been growing all evening.

They felt like a couple.

"That was fun," he commented.

"It was," Brennan agreed absently.

They got to the car, and Booth reached around Brennan to open the car door, but she didn't get in. Instead she turned, looking at him intently.

Booth smiled, questioningly. "What?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, smiling a little, almost embarrassed. "I had fun."

He grinned, and they stood like that for a long moment, beside the open car door, grinning inanely at each other.

"Hey," Booth said suddenly, breaking the silence. "You want to go get milkshakes?"

Brennan's eyebrows drew together. "Milkshakes?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "I know this awesome place, best milkshake you'll ever have. Fifty flavors or something, it's crazy." It was Parker's favorite place, and the two of them usually went after soccer practices as a treat.

Brennan smiled a little. "Okay. Milkshakes."

Soon they were pulling into a parking spot from the drive through, Booth making fun of Brennan for getting vanilla when there were 49 other, more exciting flavors (like Oreo mudslide, his own choice).

The car was mostly quiet, save for some slurping ("the _spoon_, Bones, you eat milkshakes with _spoons_.") until Brennan unexpectedly offered, "My dad used to make us milkshakes, in the blenders at home. He claimed his were the best of all time, but…" She paused, licking her spoon. "I think these are superior."

Smiling, Booth nodded. "That's nice, though. That he did that. My grandma used to make homemade ice cream sometimes, which was incredible." Swallowing, Booth added, "How is Max, anyway?"

"Fine. He's been staying with Russ, I'm not really certain what he's been doing." She frowned a little, hesitant. "He came to see me once when you were…when you were gone."

Keeping his tone casual, Booth merely replied, "Yeah?"

"Yes." To his disappointment, Brennan didn't elaborate. They finished their milkshakes and headed back to Booth's place.

~(B*B)~

That night it was cancer, a new one, and particularly terrifying.

_She wakes up with her head on the side of his hospital bed, her hand covering his._

_Booth's still asleep. He is pale and sunken, his eyes rimmed with dark, sunken skin. His arms, on the bed, are startling small, lacking the usual muscle. His hair, stubble and eyebrows were gone, and the effect is rather jarring for a moment.. _

_His eyes, large without lashes framing them, open, and he smiles at her with what seems like great effort. His voice is impossibly weak. "Bones…"_

_Tears thickening her throat, she, too, smiles with difficulty. "Hey."_

_His hand squeezes hers feebly. "This is it, Bones."_

_Tears are falling fast and she shakes her head hard. _

"_It is." He squeezed again, so limp and weak. "It's alright."_

_She shook her head again, her voice shaking but fierce. "You __can't__." _

_He touches her face, and dimly she thinks she should be the one comforting him, not the other way around. "It's been two years, Bones. I'm tired. And so are you."_

"_I'm not," she insists, her voice splintering. "I'm not, and…we can do a more aggressive round of chemo, it'll work, I'll talk to the oncologist, I can make sure…"_

"_Bones," he cuts her off, barely whispering. "I don't want more chemo. I can't do it again." His voice is gentle but firm, and he meets her eyes very deliberately. "It's time."_

_A sob comes ripping from her throat, and he shakily thumbs her tears away. "What can I do?" She chokes out, her voice quivering. She means what can she do to talk him out of this, to change his mind, to keep him with her. She's asking how to save him._

_Booth moves over a little in the hospital bed. "You can stay with me."_

_She crawls in beside him without further invitation, nestling her head under his arm, her tears falling against his hospital gown._

_He begins to talk. He tells her about Parker, about what he wants for him, and he asks her to make sure he's alright. "He loves you Bones, it would break his heart if he never saw you. When he gets to high school, you can be the one he calls for help with his hard subjects. Do they still have science fairs? You can help him win the science fair, okay? And he'll get into a good college, and do anything he wants. Make sure, alright? Make sure he knows that. Take him to that milkshake place we love sometime, okay, Bones? Rebecca doesn't take him there, so you have to take him every once in awhile when you see him."_

_He talks about her. "I need you to be safe, okay, Bones? Go on foreign digs if you want to, but not to anywhere too dangerous. No death squads allowed, got it? You're going to be okay. I want you to be. You're going to be amazing, I know. You're going to keep catching murderers, because you're the best."_

_She shakes her head vigorously, sobs catching in her throat. "Not without you."_

"_They need you, Bones." His voice was growing fainter, as if he was muttering in his sleep. "The squints, Parker. The victims." He presses his lips, dry and trembling, against her temple."You're going to be fine."_

"_Not without you," she repeats. "I can't be."_

"_You can," he mutters, voice so thin it is barely a breath; their heads are against each other, their fingers intertwined between them. "Bones? I have something important."_

_She's sobbing hard; she can feel him fading. "Wh-what?"_

"_I love you, Bones."_

_Her sobs redouble, and her own reply, her own 'I love you' sticks in her throat, caught behind the tears. She's crying harder, too hard to breathe, much less talk. But she has to get it out. "I…"_

_His eyes are closed._

"_Booth?"_

_The rhythmic, steady beep of the hear monitor fades to one long note._

"_BOOTH!"_

"Bones, wake up!" Booth was sitting up, shaking her.

"Don't…," she whimpered, still asleep, thrashing away from his hold.

"BONES!" He gripped her chin in his palm, trying to still her.

Her eyes flew open, identical pools of pure grief. They found his gaze, blinked, and in the next second she was rolling off the bed and stumbling into the bathroom.

Brennan's knees knocked against the cool tile, hard, as she bent over the toilet, retching.

Then an arm came around her back, strong and steady, unlike the thin, bony version of that arm she'd dreamed moments before.

Booth was kneeling next to her, reaching his other hand to smooth back her sweat soaked hair.

When she had thoroughly emptied the contents of her stomach, Brennan slumped back against him, trembling. She felt Booth's forehead resting on the back of her head, as his hand rubbed slow circles on her back.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked gently.

She shook her head immediately. Booth didn't have cancer. Not even close. She'd never even known him to get sick. The dream hadn't even made sense; even _if_ Booth got sick, he didn't get to just decide to die and instantly do it.

He hadn't been in a car accident, and he wasn't terminally ill. He wasn't dying.

"C'mon. Let's go back to bed." He took her hand and pulled her up, guiding her gently back to the bedroom. "Sure you don't want to talk?"

She shook her head again, catching her lower lip between her teeth.

When they were laying down again, Booth, on his side, moved behind her, spooning, as they'd done last night, and as they'd started out that one.

This time, though, Brennan tensed as soon as his arm went around her. She closed her eyes, seeing the hospital bed and the dream-Booth, so sick and helpless, holding her as he faded away.

She flinched from Booth's touch, rolling as far away from him as her side of the bed allowed.

Brennan tried not to register to hurt that flashed in Booth's eyes as he waited uncertainly for a moment, before returning to his side of the bed, closing his eyes without another word.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but Brennan battled them back as she turned on her side, facing away from Booth. She was being absurd, getting so upset over fictional dreams that came like clockwork every night, but the fact remained they something could happen to Booth, and the fact remained that she could _not_ lose him again.

It had happened so fast the last time. They hadn't even been working, which until then had been the only time dangerous situation presented themselves. She'd been singing, _singing_, because he asked her to, and because he'd smiled at her like that. She'd been watching him, the way he'd been smiling so wide, and she loved the way he was looking at her, and in a split second, a gunshot cracked above the piano and her voice, and the world came down around her.

It could happen anytime. There could be a phone call, some police officer telling her his car had been run off the road. Or when he went back to work, some other agent could call her, tell her he'd been shot again, this time fatally. It was why she hadn't been more than ten feet away from him since they'd gotten back to D.C.

But there were things she couldn't stop. There could be headaches, nosebleeds, high fevers…anything seemingly trivial disguising something much worse, something that could take him away and leave her behind, even if she never left his side for the rest of his life.

She thought of her conversation with Angela, at the lake weeks ago.

_Brennan whispered, so quiet it was barely a breath, "I love him. I need to make that stop."_

_Angela squeezed her shoulder. "You don't really have any control over that." _

Booth spoke as though 'true love' was all happiness and sunshine and comfort. But loving him, if that was in fact what she felt for Booth, had been the hardest, most painful thing in the world for the past month when he was gone.

She couldn't understand how love was worth it, knowing that nothing was constant. If you loved someone, let them become your reason for living, what happened when you lost them?

The more dependent you were on someone else, the less control you had. And here she was, living in his apartment, unable to sleep if he wasn't beside her, unable to be in a different room, even, for more than a few minutes at a time.

And there were still no way to guarantee she wouldn't lose him again.

~(B*B)~

The next morning started out quiet, and the day progressed the same way. Brennan sat in the living room for most of the morning, going through e-mails while Booth, on the couch next to her, did paperwork.

Just before three, the phone rang, and Brennan only half listened as Booth talked to Rebecca. When he hung up, however, Booth turned to her and said, "Hey, Bones, Rebecca's held up at work…I gotta go get Parker from school and take him to soccer practice, okay? I shouldn't be more than a couple hours."

Brennan didn't move, unease settling over her. He hadn't asked her if she wanted to come, just assumed she wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't mind if she asked to go with him; Booth would probably even be pleased. But she also had a feeling she would see right through her, and realize how pathetic she was being.

_It's bad enough you're living in his apartment, sleeping in his bed like a child. _Brennan scolded herself inwardly. _You don't have to turn into his shadow._

She plastered a smile on her face, "Sure."

He was halfway to the door when Booth slowed and turned, an uncertain frown on his face. "You want to come?"

Brennan flushed, a little angry to know that she was so transparent. Even Booth knew it was possible she couldn't bear to be left alone for more than five minutes.

Her voice casual, she said, "No, thank you, I'd like to finish up some work here. Tell Parker I said hello."

Nodding, Booth corrected, "You can tell him, I'm bringing him back by for the rest of the evening. Some sort of crisis at Bec's office, she's going to pick him up after dinner."

She could tell Booth was inordinately pleased to get unexpected extra time with his son, and Brennan tried to smile. "Sounds good."

He smiled back. "Bye, Bones."

Then he was gone, and she was alone in Booth's apartment.

Brennan felt vaguely nauseous, as ridiculous as it was. Booth spent most of his time questioning murder suspects and arresting them. He could handle a drive to an elementary school and a soccer field. She was being paranoid.

Attempting to return to her work, Brennan typed slowly for only a few minutes before giving up.

The framed photo of Booth and Parker, the one she'd first grabbed when she came barreling into his apartment a month ago, desperate to see even his image, had been returned to its original spot on the coffee table in front of her. Brennan stared at it for a moment, a chill crawling the length of her spine.

Two hours. He'd be back in two hours.

She threw a glance at the clock. 2:58.

He'd be back by five. Maybe five fifteen.

Standing abruptly, Brennan realized she didn't want to be in his apartment.

She could take a walk. She was supposed to be doing that anyway, and if she stretched it out long enough, it could last two hours.

She moved into Booth's bedroom (which, is some secret corner of her mind, she'd started to mentally refer to as _our's_), pulling on tennis shoes and searching her bags for the iPod Angela had given her last Christmas. Music was good. Music distracted her.

She was halfway to the door, however, when she pulled on her jacket and stuck her hands absently in the pocket.

Her fingers curled around the small figurines of Jasper and Brainy, while the crumpled photograph of her and Booth brushed against the back of her hand.

Freezing, Brennan slowly removed the items from her pocket and stared at them; these were what she'd wanted with her when she'd planned on dying.

A sudden wave of dizziness swept over her, so strong Brennan had to sit down, instantly, in the middle of the small foyer, one hand bracing the wall.

She sat there for a few minutes, forcing herself to draw slow, even breaths.

There was a siren in the distance, and Brennan's stomach turned as she thought of the car crash dreams; in them, she could always hear remote sounds of sirens, never drawing closer, never making it in time to help him.

She was losing it. If she'd been given a wish (although wishing was impractical, and had no bearing on reality whatsoever), during that month, anything she'd wanted, Brennan wouldn't have had to think about it. She'd want him back.

And now he was. So why was she still such a mess?

The phone rang, and her stomach dropped.

He had barely been gone twenty minutes. It was most likely someone calling for Booth. Or even Booth himself calling her.

Still, Brennan's heart was in her throat, an irrational feeling of dread gripping her as she picked up the phone and answered in a small voice, "Hello?"

"Hey, Sweeie," Angela chirped cheerfully over the line.

All the oxygen that had apparently been gathering in Brennan's lungs whooshed out at once, and she sagged against the refrigerator, practically limp with relief. At the time, she silently berated herself for such a gross overreaction.

"Brennan?"

Locating her voice, Brennan managed a halfway decent, "Hi, Ange."

"Hi. I was just calling to tell you again how much fun we had last night."

"Us, too, Ange," Brennan replied automatically.

"I'm really glad. You seemed better. A lot."

Brennan thought of her near panic seconds before and nearly laughed at the irony.

Angela continued, a teasing note in her voice, "You and Booth were so cute together."

Heaving a weary sigh, Brennan began what she knew was futile attempt to curtail what was coming. "_Ange_…"

Instantly impatient, Angela retorted, "Oh, come on, Bren. Don't tell me last night didn't feel like a couple's thing."

"Well, you and Hodgins _are_ a couple, as in two people, and Booth and I are two people, which technically qualifies as a couple, but being romantically involved is not necessarily implied in the term considering-"

"Sweetie, do _not_ think you can pull the clueless act, okay? I know you better than that, it doesn't work on me. Last night felt like a double date type thing."

Stubbornly, Brennan pointed out, "Booth and I aren't dating, double or otherwise."

Angela continued on as though she hadn't spoken, "And would it be so horrible if you _were_ a couple? Usually when someone's in love with someone else, they _want_ to be a 'romantic couple'. I mean you're already living with him, sleeping in the same bed."

"For a few days, because the doctors-" Brennan began feebly.

"Sweetie, you wouldn't be there unless you wanted to be. Needed to be. It's been, what, four, five days? And you love him, you already told me so. No taking it back." Angela said this last part with the singsong, 'gotcha' tone of a little kid, and Brennan would have laughed if she wasn't spluttering incoherently with embarrassment.

Tone more serious, Angela asked, "How are you sleeping?"

Brennan closed her eyes, sighing. She hadn't been telling Angela about the continued nightmares, mainly because she didn't want her to worry but partly because she was embarrassed. Still, she needed to tell someone about the change in them…preferably someone who wasn't in the dream.

"Not…great," she answered after a long pause. "I keep dreaming about him dying…"

"Sweetie…" That tone came straight from the grieving widow period, and Brennan flinched, hearing it again.

"But not in the shooting," she added hastily, hoping information would distract Angela's sympathy, at least momentarily. "Other ways. Car accidents, and cancer…none of which has ever happened. It shouldn't affect me, Ange, but it does."

"Bren, sweetie, Booth isn't going to die," Angela told her. "He's here, back with us, with you, and he's safe. Nothing's going to happen."

"You can't know that," Brennan countered, the pitch of her voice heightening. "He could be sitting at a red light tomorrow and get D-boned by some truck."

"T-boned, Bren," Angela corrected automatically.

"-or start getting sick and find out it's incurable. Or he could go back to work and get shot again."

There was a long , weighty pause, then Angela said seriously, "That's true. He could. Life's short, and unpredictable. So isn't that enough reason to make the most out of the time we have?"

Brennan sighed. Angela, forever the optimist, _would_ see it like that. "It isn't worth it, Angela. The risk, the _pain_ of losing him….loving someone isn't worth it." Brennan thought, suddenly, of her realization that night in Seattle, waiting for the killer, when she'd admitted that Booth had, in fact, been worth everything she was going to, but she pushed the memory aside, telling herself she'd thought she was about to die. Of course it had been easy to say that at what she thought was the end.

"We've been over this," Angela argued, unyielding. "Love isn't a choice. You already love him, whether you make it official or not, whether you even tell him. So what's the problem?"

Brennan was quiet for so long that Angela started to listen for a returning dial tone, but then Brennan said in a small voice, "What is he dies, Angela?"

"Bren…" Angela exhaled shakily. "What if he _does_? What if he does, God forbid, and you _still_ didn't tell him everything you wanted to. If you two still never had your chance?"

"I…I don't know," Brennan stammered honestly. Silence settled briefly, then, "I'm _scared_, Angela."

Voice softening, Angela replied, "I know. But that's okay. Sometimes it's good to be scared. You just…do it anyway. You take the leap, you know?" She paused, waiting for an argument. "You need to tell him. Tell him everything, okay? All of it."

"I can't," Brennan barely whispered, already preparing herself for an argument.

"Why _not_? He should know."

"I just can't," Brennan repeated. "He doesn't need to know." There was a pause, and then Brennan said, "And it doesn't matter what I feel, Booth doesn't…he doesn't date co-workers."

"Sweetie, are you kidding me? Booth said that over a year ago, and frankly, it was bullshit even then. Of _course_ he loves you. You two have been through so much together…he took a bullet for you, for God's sake!"

"Exactly," Brennan replied quietly.

"Well…what does that mean?" Angela asked, confused.

"Nothing. I gotta go, Ange." She hung up the phone, adding silently to herself, _It means he left me._

~(B*B)~

Three hours and twenty two minutes. That's how long he had been gone. An hour and twenty two minutes longer than he'd thought.

She'd called his cell twice, an excuse on the tip of her tongue. She would offer to start dinner, since they were running late. Parker would probably be hungry after his practice. It was a logical motive for calling.

But he hadn't answered; straight to voicemail. Which indicated, she reasoned, that his phone was simply off or, more likely, dead.

Still, she was sitting stiffly at the kitchen table, hands folded in front her, knuckles white, eyes trained on the door; every so often, they would flicker over to the digital clock in the kitchen.

An unwelcome memory drifted to the forefront of Brennan's mind. Fifteen years old, home alone, doing homework until her parents got back from Christmas shopping. They were picking up food for a late dinner, and had promised not to be later than 8:00.

At 8:47, Russ came home. At 9:33, he gave up and put a pizza in the oven for her, muttering excuses and explanations.

At 10:15, she could see him starting to worry. At 10:35, they turned off the TV they hadn't been watching. At 11, she drifted off, only to wake up at 11:28 to find Russ on the phone with the local police.

Brennan cut herself off, angrily, before she got the rest of it, the long night they spent, Russ calling all their parents friends, cursing quietly about how the police couldn't yet intervene. The call that next morning, an abandoned car had been reported. Blood on the seat, no bodies…

Now, Brennan snapped her gaze up to look at the clock.

Three hours and twenty-seven minutes.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and Brennan's heart skittered, then stopped. The front door swung open, and Parker, in a shiny blue uniform, came bounding in, Booth behind him with his arms full of take-out bags.

"Bones! Bones! We won, and I scored a goal, Bones, all by myself, from _reeeeaally_ far out, too, and it was _awesome_!"

Brennan's couldn't form a response. Her gaze, wide and bright and angry, was pinned on Booth. For a moment, her throat tightened around words, and Booth smiled innocently. "I got us Tai food."

At that, the words burst forth, loud and unsteady, accusation pulsing through her tone. "Where _were_ you?!"

Parker froze, tilting his head to look at her, mouth rounding in an O. Booth, for his part, looked apologetic.

"Rebecca told me wrong in her hurry…it was a game not a practice, so it ran longer. And we were starving, so…" His voice trailed off, studying her intently, concern slowly etching itself in his face. "I'm sorry, Bones, are you alright…?"

He stepped toward her, reaching out, and Brennan took an instinctive step back. To her humiliation, tears began to push against her eyes. "I, I called, but you d-didn't…" She looked away, furious at herself.

"I know, I know….my phone died on the way to the school, I didn't even realize…God, I'm sorry."

Anger and humiliation burned in her gut, and Brennan couldn't stand to look at Booth's face, so stripped with anguished guilt one would have thought he'd committed a deadly sin.

Booth moved a little closer, his arms reaching for her. "You're shaking, Bones," he pointed out in an undertone. "I didn't mean to worry you…"

"I wasn't worried," she protested. "I was just…getting hungry."

"_Geez Tempe," Russ said. "Stop staring at the clock. You know how Mom is when she starts shopping. Don't worry so much." _

_Brennan jerked her head around to stare at her brother. "I'm not worried," she lied. "Just…just getting hungry. That's all."_

_Russ blinked at her for a moment, then stood. "Well, shoot, I can cook. You should've said something."_

Unlike her brother sixteen years ago, Booth clearly didn't believe her. That guilt, now mingling with worry, didn't fall from his expression as he scrutinized her.

Abruptly, Brennan turned her back on him, looking down and finding Parker's eyes. A smile stretching her lips, she said, "Hey, Parker. Congratulations on scoring a basket."

"A goal," the boy corrected her. "And thanks. It was _so_ awesome."

"I bet."

Parker beamed, then spun around to face his father. "Can we eat now?"

Booth blinked a little, glancing at Brennan uncertainly, then smiled at his son. "Sure."

The meal was slightly tense. Booth and Brennan almost always addressed Parker, not each other, and Brennan in particular was going out of her way not to meet Booth's eyes.

The two adults silently cleared the table, stepping around each other as the transported the take out cartons to the trash. "You have homework, buddy?" Booth asked Parker over his shoulder.

"Nope. Can we play cards?"

Forgetting not to look at him, Brennan's head whipped around to stare at him, appalled. "You _gamble_, Booth? You gamble with your _son?"_

Booth rolled his eyes, suddenly more than a little annoyed. "_God_, Bones. No, we don't gamble. Parker and I don't hold regular casino nights, okay?"

Oblivious to the thinly veiled argument brewing between the adults, Parker clarified, "We're playing War, Bones!"

Booth sighed a little. War was the most mindless, endless card game there was. "Wouldn't you rather play Go Fish, bub?"

But Brennan was already walking away from him, into the living room, an inquisitive frown on her face. "I don't know what War is."

"It's easy," Parker assured her. "Sit down." Brennan obediently joined Parker on the living room floor, curling her legs underneath her as the boy divvied up a deck of Charlie Brown cards. "Daddy, are you coming?"

Booth nodded, and reluctantly joined his son and partner on the floor. Parker was patiently explaining the game to Bones, "…and the person with the highest card keeps them. And if two people put down the same card, and that ones the highest, they get to do a war." Brennan nodded, a look of concentration on her face that Booth would have found amusing if he wasn't so frustrated with her. "They put down three cards each, face down, and they turn over the next card on top. And the highest card in the war gets to keep _all_ the cards. You get it?"

"I believe so. It's not a game of any particular skill, correct? Merely chance?"

Parker threw a confused look at Booth, who barely suppressed another eye roll. "You got it, Bones," he praised sarcastically.

"Now, 'member, you can't look at the cards til you flip them over, kay?" Both adults nodded compliantly. "Okay, ready, get set…WAR!"

Parker flipped his first card over almost violently, and Booth and Brennan quickly followed suit.

A very long twenty-five minutes later, Booth had run out of cards, leaving Parker and Brennan battling it out . Brennan had only a few cards left, a stark contrast to the thick, unorganized pile Parker had balanced in his lap.

Still, she had two aces, and with the sparse number of cards, they were coming up fairly often, keeping her in the game.

Booth leaned back against the couch, groaning melodramatically. "This is gonna take forever."

"But I'm winning, Daddy!"

"Bones, can't we just say Parker wins? He's got most of the deck."

"He has to earn his victory Booth," Brennan said absently, as her six of hearts got beat by Parker's ten of spades.

"_Earn_ his…you're the one who said the game required no skill."

"You have to play by the rules, Daddy," Parker admonished patiently. "That's how you have fun."

Booth rolled his eyes to the ceiling; between Brennan's unyielding logic and Parker's kindergarten philosophy, he had no chance.

His eyes drifted shut, tuning out the game, and thinking about what he had to tell Brennan. He'd been worried it about from the beginning, which was the only excuse he could think for why he'd put it off, but after seeing her face when he'd come in earlier, the idea of tomorrow definitely worried him.

"No!"

"WAR!"

Booth blinked at the noise …Parker's triumphant bellow and Brennan's anguished disappointment. Glancing at the carpet, he saw they'd both put down an ace.

Parker met Brennan's eyes, his face a warrior's mask, a look which Brennan instantly mirrored. Booth couldn't help but smile at the seriousness of the scene as they slowly put down three cards face down.

"Ready?" Parker asked solemnly.

"Ready."

Parker began to chant, "1, 2, 3, 4, I declare WAR!"

With tantalizing slowness, they both slid the card from the top of their decks and lay them down. Instantly, Brennan groaned and Parker let out a whoop of delight as he began scooping the cards toward him, leaving Brennan with only two left, which he quickly took in the last two rounds.

Parker leaped up. "I beatcha, I beatcha," he chanted, taunting.

Brennan suppressed a smile and attempted a mock-stern countenance. "You shouldn't be a sore winner, Parker."

The boy ignored her, running around in celebration, until Brennan impulsively reached out and caught him around the waist, bringing Parker crashing into her lap and tickling his ribs. "Not so fun now, is it?" she asked playfully as Parker dissolved into giggles.

Booth watched them, a smile tugging at his lips, all his frustration crumbling. It was impossible not to adore the scene in front of him; his two favorite people in the world getting along so well.

"Daddy, Daddy, help!" Parker squealed from Bones' lap.

Booth grinned at his son, pretending to think about it. "Yeah, I guess I could help…I could help Bones!" With that, he crawled forward and reached at Parker, joining Bones in tickling the small boy.

Parker shrieked, then protested breathlessly between peals of laughter, "I meant tickle _Bones_, not meee!"

Booth pulled Parker closer to him, so the boy was on the floor between Brennan and Booth. "What? I can't understand you," Booth replied innocently, wiggling his fingers under Parker's neck as Brennan continued to tickle his ribs.

Parker squirmed between them, nowhere to go, as he continued to giggle manically. "Tickle BONES!"

"Who?"

"BONES!!!"

"What about Bones?" Booth grinned at Brennan over Parker's head, and she found his smile contagious.

"TICKLE HER!!!" Parker shrieked.

Abruptly, Booth let go of his son. "Okay." Smirking, he lunged at his partner.

Brennan's eyes widened, and she instantly abandoned her assault on Parker to awkwardly crawl backwards, out of the way. "No, Booth…"

"Get her daddy!"

"My pleasure," Booth said, a wolfish grin splitting his face.

Brennan scrambled to her feet, and Booth did the same, chasing her half the perimeter of the living room before she cut behind the couch. Booth hovered on the opposite side, right in front of her, waiting for Bones to pick a direction. Parker, grinning hugely, turned around on the rug to watch the antics of the adults.

Brennan eased right, and Booth eased left, readying for pursuit. She moved left, he moved right. He smirked at her, mirth dancing in his eyes. "Make a move, Bones."

She hesitated for a second too long, and before Brennan could react Booth leaped over the couch, standing on the cushions (evoking a gasp from Parker) and pulling her forward. She let out a girlish shriek, a sound Brennan couldn't ever remember making in her life, as they fell in a heap on the couch, Booth on top of her, following Parker's orders and tickling her.

He was being careful of her stomach, his fingers wriggling under her neck, only occasionally dancing down to the edge of her ribs, away from the wound.

Brennan tried to twist away, but he had her pinned, and she was laughing so hard the muscles in her stomach ached, the skin around her surgical scar tightening uncomfortably, but she didn't want him to stop1

In addition to her aching ribcage, her chest was swelling again, and she was learning that maybe happiness, too, could provoke a physical reaction.

~(B*B)~

Parker laughed loudly, enjoying the scene playing out in front of him. His dad and Bones were acting like kids, and it was _hilarious_.

The boy watched them for a few more moments, observing the grin that was nearly splitting Booth's cheeks and Bones laughing more than he'd ever heard her. Then, suddenly, his dad's hands stilled, and Bones slowly stopped laughing.

Neither of them got off the couch, though, or even sat up. No, his dad just laid there, on top of Bones (that had to hurt her at least a _little_), and Bones didn't even seem to want him to move. They weren't paying Parker a bit of attention, just smiling at each other kind of goofily.

It was _boring._

Parker scrambled up from the carpet and ran over to the couch. "My turn!" He cried out, launching himself on top of his father's back.

Booth, who had been propped up on his elbows, was so caught up in looking at Bones that he was unprepared for the sudden attack by Parker. He lost his balance and, for a moment, dropped all his weight on top of Brennan. She groaned on the impact, and Booth hastily lifted himself off her, worried about hurting her, then awkwardly sat up while simultaneously wrapping one arm around his son to keep him from falling.

"We're crushing Bones, pal," he said, maneuvering Parker into his lap as he sat on the edge of the couch, right next to Brennan's curled legs.

Before Brennan could sit up, Parker crawled from Booth's lap to take the position his father had been in moments before, not bothering to lessen the weight on Brennan's legs as he crouched on her thighs, tickling her stomach.

"Booth, help!" Brennan cried dramatically.

Booth grinned, ruffling Parker's hair and standing up. "Can't help ya, Bones. Watch the stomach, Parks, okay? Remember we gotta be careful."

Parker didn't miss a beat as he moved his area of focus on to Brennan's neck, which provoked even more laughter. Parker threw back his head and laughed, attacking Brennan with enthusiasm. He was laughing as hard as Brennan was, and suddenly Booth was rummaging around drawers for his rarely used digital camera.

The first flash went off and Brennan's head snapped to look at him, breathlessly protesting, "Booth! This is not a moment to document!"

"I disagree," he retorted playfully, aiming the camera again.

Parker looked up with interest, and couldn't resist he usual 'cheese' smile at the camera. Brennan took advantage of the boy's distraction to extract her arms and seize him by the sides, turning the tables.

"Bones, _no!_" Parker cried out.

Booth took another picture, loving the wide, uninhibited smile on Brennan's face. When she smiled like that, it was hard to remember the tension that had consumed them less than an hour ago.

There was a knock on the door, and Booth went to answer it, while Parker and Brennan didn't even notice.

Rebecca stepped into the apartment, looking tired, and was instantly greeted by deafening laughter and shrieks. Booth grinned at the baffled look on her face.

"Mommy, save me!!!" Parker giggled from the couch. Brennan glanced over her shoulder and, seeing Rebecca and feeling suddenly awkward, stopped tickling him immediately.

Rebecca, though, just smiled warmly at Brennan and came closer to the living room. "Have you been torturing Daddy and Dr. Brennan all afternoon, Parks?"

Grinning mischievously, Parker said, "No, just Bones." For good measure, he launched a brief sneak attack on her stomach.

"I surrender!" Brennan laughed, holding up her hands and squirming underneath the small boy. "I give up!"

Beaming, Parker finally leapt off the couch and went to hug his mother. "Mommy, I scored a goal in my soccer game! And we won! And Daddy and I got Tai food and came to eat it with Bones. And we played War, and I _won_!" He drew back from Rebecca's legs and asked, "Can I spend the night?"

Rebecca half-smiled down at him, "Not tonight, buddy. You have school in the morning. Mommy just had to work late." She smiled at Booth. "Thanks so much for this, Seeley, I know it was last minute." After a second, she added, "You, too, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan's face colored slightly, as she wondered what exactly Rebecca knew about why she was staying with Booth. She knew Parker's love for detailed narrative, and therefore couldn't imagine the details of his last overnight visit, nightmare included, hadn't been related to his mother.

Booth just smiled at Rebecca. "You know it's never a problem. I love spending time with my favorite guy."

"Parker, tell Daddy and Dr. Brennan goodnight."

Parker turned immediately to Bones, who was closest to him and held out his arms. Unable to keep from smiling, Brennan bent down and let Parker's arms slide around her neck, while she obligingly hugged him back.

"Night Bones. I had lotsa fun. Next soccer game will you come watch me?"

"Sure," she agreed without thinking twice. "I had fun, too. Have a good day at school tomorrow."

"I will." Parker walked over to Booth and repeated the routine, hugging his dad, making plans, and saying goodnight.

"Love you, buddy."

"I love you, too, Daddy." After a pause, he looked at Brennan. "Love you, Bones."

This unexpected sentiment caused Brennan's heart to catch. "I love you, too, Parker," she replied, surprise by how much she meant the words.

Well, he _was_ an easy kid to love, she thought, watching Booth smiling softly at her, his eyes full of tenderness. _He's so much like his dad._

Soon the door closed behind Rebecca and Parker, and the apartment was silent for the first time in nearly an hour.

Booth caught Brennan's eye and smiled sweetly. "My kid's in love with you."

Brennan flushed, immensely pleased. "I heard. It's mutual."

Grin widening, Booth nodded. "He's a good judge of people."

"Like his dad."

Now it was Booth's turn to blush. For a moment they stood there, smiling at each other, when Brennan's smile suddenly faded. "Booth, I'm sorry I got so angry earlier. You couldn't help being late."

"It's alright, Bones. I'm sorry I worried you," Booth replied.

"It wasn't so bad," Brennan insisted, and Booth just nodded, but inwardly, he sighed. That was what had made him angry, not that she yelled at him when he first walked in…it was the fact that she continuously refused to talk about or even acknowledge her fear and insecurities.

Booth glanced at the clock, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't put it off anymore. "Bones, I gotta tell you something."

Her eyes darkened instantly, worry apparent on her face. "Alright…"

He nodded awkwardly at the couch. "Let's sit."

This suggestion only made the anxiety in her expression intensify. But she only nodded silently and followed him to the living room.

Booth hesitated; it wasn't really any colossal deal, in the scheme of things. They'd both known it was coming. But something about the incident earlier this evening made Booth hyper concerned about how she'd take it.

"Cullen called me yesterday," he admitted. "We argued for a bit, but he told me I had to agree to a day to come back to work."

Brennan blinked at him. "So what day did you-"

"Tomorrow," he admitted, voice heavy.

Brennan swallowed hard. "Oh." She stared down at her hands, twisting in her lap. "Can I-"

Booth had anticipated the next question. "You have your follow up at the beginning next week. But until he clears you, the surgeons in Seattle said you can't go back to work."

"I could go to the lab-"

"You know what they said, Bones. It's just a couple more days."

Her shoulders sagged, a knot tightening in her gut. "What am I supposed to do here all day?" she asked, when what she really meant was _What am I supposed to do without you?_

Booth shrugged, still looking apologetic. "Write? Watch TV? I think I get the discovery channel." His lame attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. "Bones, I really am sorry, but it's just for a few days."

Brennan nodded, "I know." Still, her lungs felt tight. He was going back to work. Without her. Work had people like Pam Nunan. The Gravedigger. Gallagher. Howard Epps. Kenton. Gormogon.

_At least he won't have me there to worry about, _Brennan tried to reassure herself. _No bombs in refrigerators or standing up in front of bullets._

But it didn't matter. He provoked criminals enough on his own. Suspects were jumpy, unpredictable. She had no way of knowing if he'd be safe.

The danger of his job, _their_ job, had never seemed so apparent. Or so terrifying.

_So there's chapter fourteen. Or kinda fourteen part A. Stay tuned within the next few hours for chapter fifteen slash fourteen B._

_Oh, and PS…the premiere was amazing ("I got you, baby…" I nearly melted), as was this past weeks. This season excites me._


	15. Shattered

_**Okay, so I apologize for the accidental lie. I couldn't get it up within a few hours…some stuff came up last night, and I was up typing at around four thirty when I realized it wasn't flowing and I needed sleep haha. Still, it's not so short either, so I hope you enjoy.**_

_**Last chapter was the closest to fluff I'll probably ever come and I blame Parker. It's a good lead up to this one, because angst returns. Majorly.**_

_**Enjoy. And review away! I'd like to know what you thought of **__**everything**__**. You guys are awesome.**_

_Chapter Fifteen_

_Shattered_

_And I've lost who I am  
And I can't understand  
Why my heart is so broken  
Rejecting your love  
Without love gone wrong  
Life  
Less words  
Carry on_

But I know  
All I know  
Is that the ends beginning

Who I am from the start  
Take me home to my heart  
Let me go  
And I will run  
I will not be silenced

All this time spent in vain  
Wasted years  
Wasted gain  
All is lost  
Hope remains  
And this war's not over

It was one of those rare nights where Brennan woke up on her own, while Booth stayed asleep.

The nightmare hadn't been nearly as vivid or detailed as the others…in fact, it was more like a sickening series of images, some memories –her fridge exploding, Booth in a hospital bed, Booth going missing when he went after Ted Kennedy, finding him tied up and beaten, Booth being beaten with a pipe by Howard Epps' apprentice, a clown paramedic taking shots at him, their fake taxi cab exploding, and finally, Booth standing up in front of her, bleeding out on the floor, his coffin disappearing into the ground.

Other images were completely fabricated: Booth knocking on the door to a suspects and being met with the barrel of a gun. A bomb rigged in his office at the Hoover, exploding. A bullet shattering through his windshield in the middle of a pursuit, Booth slumping over the wheel as the car spun off the road. An agent coming to his apartment to tell her. Receiving the phone call. And always, always, cemeteries and coffins and gravestones.

She woke up in bed, her breathing labored, sweat sticky on her skin. She inched a little closer to Booth, who laying flat on his stomach, one arm slung over her back, his leg tangled with hers.

She wanted him to stay with her, to remain in the solace of the apartment, to venture out only when she was with him. But it wasn't practical, of course, or even entirely preventative: neither the apartment, for example, nor her constant presence could stop him from getting sick.

She lay on her side, watching the steady rise and fall of Booth's chest. Their fingers were still intertwined in the middle of the bed, and Brennan shifted her thumb, sliding it down and pressing it over his wrist, his pulse beating against the pad of her thumb.

It was foolish gesture, and not one she would ever attempt if Booth was awake. But when she could feel it, the physical proof of his life, it was easier to forget the feel of his blood pulsing through her fingers as his pulse faded, or the feel of his heart stopping under her hands, something she had never actually felt, but continued to happen in her nightmares, which felt as real as anything else.

She'd been kidding herself to think coming back to DC with Booth would mean she would go back to normal. Because she was living with Booth, and she couldn't sleep or work or be alone for any reasonable stretch of time. _Nothing_ was normal.

But at some point it would be. Booth was going back to work. That was a step closer to normal. And eventually, probably fairly soon, she would go back, too.

And then it would be back to serial killers and corrupt agents and disturbed women. To gunshots and Booth "being her gun".

Why had she never noticed how terrifying that was?

She stayed awake for the rest of the night, keeping constant vigil while she still could.

~(B*B)~

Booth was momentarily thrown off by the beeping of his alarm the next morning, the first time he'd needed one to wake up in a long time.

Sleep-induced fog fading, Booth became suddenly aware of Brennan's presence, and hastily fumbled for the 'off' button on his clock.

Seconds after the beeping ceased, though, he realized it was too late. Brennan turned her head and blinked at him.

"Sorry, Bones." he whispered. "Alarm wake you?"

She continued to look confused for a moment, then mumbled, "Yeah, the alarm."

He squeezed her hand once before gently extracting his fingers, smiling. "Go back to sleep. I'll step lightly. Promise."

Brennan nodded, but as Booth eased off the bed and headed to the bathroom, she rolled on her back, as wide awake as she had been for the last several hours.

Brennan watched silently as Booth, emerging from the bathroom, moved around getting ready, pulling on his suit, complete with a thin red tie, black and red striped socks, and his Cocky belt buckle.

On his way out the bedroom, Booth stopped by the bed, kneeling down by the bed the way he sometimes did to wake Parker up in the morning. "Hey…"

Brennan regarded him silently, her expression mild, but Booth could see the worry in her eyes. He smiled reassuringly. "You want to get lunch? I could come by around twelve, take my break…we could go to the diner."

Brennan felt her tension dissipate slightly at this idea. "Sure."

"Okay, I'll be back then. Maybe after I could drop you by the lab, see how everyone's doing."

Brennan smiled gratefully, recognizing the compromise. "Thanks."

He glanced at the clock. "You could still get in a couple hours of sleep, though."

"I might," Brennan lied.

Booth nodded, standing, and walked to the door of the bedroom, smiling at her one more time before walking out. "I'll see you soon, Bones."

"Bye, Booth."

He left the bedroom door cracked and disappeared from view; moments later, Brennan heard the click of the apartment door.

She sighed, rolling over to stare at the clock, wishing she didn't feel the need to count the hours until she saw him again.

~(B*B)~

Booth was intending to spend the morning, barring any emergency cases, finishing up the intensive paperwork that went along with the Reynolds case, something he'd been avoiding since he'd been back. And if Cullen called his name when he walked by the deputy director's office, Booth gave no indication of hearing it.

Before he went to his own office, though, Booth stopped in at Sweets'.

"Hey, Sweets," he said, popping his head in to check to his if the kid was with a client (he wasn't). "Got a minute?"

To Booth's complete surprise, the young psychologist, seeing him, broke into a huge smile and leaped up, coming over in three strides and hugging the agent.

Booth stood stiffly in Sweets' embrace for about two seconds before he recovered enough to extract himself. "What the hell are ya _doing_, Sweets?"

Sweets blushed a little. "Sorry. It's just good to see you, Agent Booth. I was extremely relieved to find out you weren't really dead."

Booth couldn't help but smirk at the absurdity of that statement. "Gee, thanks."

Sweets waved Booth all the way into his office. "Have a seat." They both settled into their usual chairs, and Sweets regarded the agent expectantly. "Something on your mind?"

Hesitating, Booth stared down at his hands, already questioning whether this was a good idea.

His silence continued long enough that Sweets, seemingly apropos to nothing, asked, "How's Dr. Brennan?"

Booth's head snapped up. Warily, he questioned, "Why do you ask?"

Sweets sighed a little impatiently. "Because I heard what happened…the Seattle serial killer? And I know she's been staying with you. But the main-"

"How do you know she's staying with me?" Booth demanded.

"Angela," he answered simply. "As I was saying, the main reason I ask is because I had a feeling that's why you're here."

Booth stared at him blankly. "What's why I'm here, exactly?"

Sweets arched an eyebrow. "Dr. Brennan." Booth didn't say anything. "Am I wrong?"

Booth sighed, suddenly uncomfortable. "I just…." He paused, searching for words. Leaning forward, he fixed Sweets with a piercing look. "This stays between us, understand?"

"Of course…"

"Okay…" He exhaled slowly. "How normal are…nightmares? I don't mean like every once in awhile, but every night. And it's been a few weeks, since I got back, and…should they still be happening? Because I'm worried."

Sweets was scrutinizing him. "Dr. Brennan's been having nightmares? About…the shooting?"

Booth shrugged. "I guess, I don't…I don't know. She doesn't talk about it, she just…wakes up screaming." Booth had a sudden vision of Bones' face if she ever found out he was talking to Sweets. Abruptly, he started to stand, "This was a bad idea…"

"Agent Booth, just…just sit down, okay? Please."

Reluctantly, Booth lowered himself back in his seat, mouth shut.

Sweets leaned forward the way he always did when he was about to launch into a point. "Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan underwent…_massive _shifts in reality. For a month, she thought you were dead, which, frankly, was enough of a trauma. I think you and I both know that Dr. Brennan's hyper rationale is just a cover for a very vulnerable and sensitive core. She let you in past her defenses, probably further than anyone else in her life. And when she lost you, it was devastating. Thanks to her past, Dr. Brennan's always resisted getting close to people for fear of being abandoned. But she got close to you; and then she lost you."

Booth rubbed a hand over his face, a little shaken. "You're telling me stuff I know, Sweets."

"Right, right. Hear me out…" He began speaking more quickly. "You were the one person Dr. Brennan trusted to always be there. You'd had three years to prove it to her. Then, for a month, everything changed for her. _Everything_…Dr. Brennan was used to being able to compartmentalize, to be ruled by logic, not emotions. But losing you changed all that."

Blinking at him, Booth asked, "How do you know all this?"

"You aren't the only person to come to me worried about Dr. Brennan in the past few months, Agent Booth," Sweets answered smoothly, then continued. "And then, when you came back, everything she thought she knew shifted again. You were dead for a month, and then suddenly you weren't…that's hard for anyone to comprehend. She lost you once; and that was always a fear, even if it wasn't one Dr. Brennan could consciously acknowledge. Now, of course she's going to struggle with that even more. She's going to have an even more difficult time letting you in then she did before, because the threat of losing you is very real."

Growing impatient, Booth asked, "But what do I do? I'm worried about her, Sweets, she…she's scared, she's barely sleeping…"

"Have you two talked about it? What happened the month you were gone, has she told you?"

Booth gave the kid a look. "What do you think, Sweets? She doesn't talk about it. I've stopped asking…it never went very well."

Sweets nodded like he'd expected as much. "I think she should."

Booth sighed. He'd spent a lot of time in the past week or so trying to convince himself that it wasn't important, to talk himself out of asking questions. "Why? Would it really make her feel better?"

"Her feelings of anxiety, the flashbacks, the nightmares…it's all fed by her avoidance of talking about what happened. To get better, to move past it…she has to start."

"I…I don't understand-"

" Well…look at this way. When her father came back, do you think they talked about it?"

"Talked about…?"

"About what she went through when her parents abandoned her. Everything that happened in foster homes…"

Booth's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean what happened to her?"

"Agent Booth-"

"No, what the hell do you know about that?"

Dismissively, Sweets answered, "I just know what's in her file they gave me when I first started working with you both. Look, my point is, do you think Dr. Brennan ever told Max how she felt about him leaving? What it was like for her?"

Still distracted, he shook his head and replied, "No, of course she didn't. Bones wouldn't."

"Exactly. And how do you think her relationship is with her father now? Do you think she trusts him? Do you think they're close?"

Unease filling him, Booth countered, "You saw what Bones did at that trial. She loves him."

Sweets face softened a little, and answered, his voice heavy with significance. "Yeah, she loves him. But are they as close as they could have been? Does she _trust_ him?"

His face felt hot as he weighed the underlying meaning Sweets was trying to convey; Booth protested, "But it's different. Her parents…Max abandoned her. Willingly. _That_'s a trust thing."

"And you faked your own death. Willingly. Without making sure she knew." Booth's mouth flew open, automatic protests about to spill out, but Sweets held out a hand. "I'm speaking from Dr. Brennan's perspective. It is a trust thing. But as I was saying, she never spoke to Max about what she went through. He has no idea. And she doesn't trust him." Sweets' gaze leveled with Booth. "It doesn't mean she doesn't love him."

Booth swallowed, not enjoying the parallels. "So you think…you think that until she tells me what it was like for her…she won't trust me? She's still going to be scared I'm going to…leave her again?"

"It's valid, yes. Of course, her talking to you about it won't immediately get rid of feelings of insecurity, but…I think it will help. To know that you understand what she went through. Because you can't right now."

Booth's eyebrows drew together, and he scowled a little. "Hey, I understand it was hard. Christ, if it was me that lost Bones…" He shuddered. "I'd be a wreck."

"I know," Sweets said quietly. "But I'm sure to an extent, it's hard to imagine." Sweets leaned back, relaxing a bit. "Dr. Brennan may not know it, but she needs to know you understand. That what she went through wasn't her being weak or illogical, or overdramatic."

Nodding a little, Booth thought this over. "But…she won't tell me. I, I've asked and she closes up. She won't talk about it. I mean, I've got her waking up in the middle of the night in tears, and she pretends nothing's wrong a few hours later."

"It'll take some time," he admitted. "Like I said, Dr. Brennan often views grief and emotions as evidence of weakness. But, Agent Booth, I know that _when_ she's ready to talk about it, you're the one she'll go to."

Booth smiled slightly, grateful for this reassurance. "Thanks, Sweets."

~(B*B)~

A few hours later, Booth walked into his apartment to find Brennan sitting in the kitchen, clearly waiting for him. As soon as he stepped in and smiled at her, relief instantly washed over her tense features, a relief that honestly broke his heart a little. He'd never say it to Bones, but her expression reminded him of Parker at the end of his first day of preschool, so comforted to see someone had, in fact, come back for him.

"Hungry yet?"

"Yes," Brennan answered promptly, standing and following him out the door. "How was work?"

He shrugged. "Nothing too exciting…just finishing up some paperwork. Cullen never threw me a case." He nudged his shoulder playfully against hers. "Probably wants to wait til I'm back with my partner."

Brennan glanced at him, attempting a smile that looked more like a grimace. Booth frowned. "You okay?"

"Fine," she muttered dismissively. "Where are we going for lunch?"

They were quiet for most of the car ride to the diner, Booth still deep in thought over what Sweets had said, as he had been all morning.

It was a difficult problem. According to the psychologist, Brennan wouldn't begin to trust him fully again until she was able to open up and realize that he understood what she'd been through; yet she also wasn't going to open up to him if she didn't trust him.

When they were seated in the diner, Booth thought of maybe trying to get her to open up about something else, something mostly unrelated, to get back to a place where she could open up to him. So after they ordered, and Brennan mentioned something about talking to Angela that morning (not surprising; Booth had asked the artist to call) , and Booth saw an in. His voice conversational, he asked, "So Bones I didn't know you and Angela had known each other since you were sixteen."

For a moment, Brennan looked both surprised and confused. Booth watched as realization dawned; he knew that from the e-mail she'd sent, but she took her cue from Booth and pretended this was something he'd simply found out on his own.

She paused for a second before answering, seemingly confused about his motives. Finally, she shrugged a little. "Yes, I moved to her school my sophomore year of high school. My…_fourth_ foster home was in her town."

Booth nodded, swallowing a bite of burger. Tone still casual, he asked, "Were you there long?"

"A little over three months." She glanced up from her salad, eyeing him suspiciously, "Why?"

"Just curious," Booth said, but he was thinking of the e-mail (_You saved me…twice_) and what Sweets said earlier (_everything that happened in the foster homes…I just know what was in the file)_, and he was momentarily distracted from his original objective by a legitimate urge to know. "It's nice, though. That you two stayed in touch."

"Yes, we roomed together in college a few years later."

"Nice," Booth replied, then immediately steered the conversation back. "Those foster parents, were they alright?"

Brennan stared at him, putting her fork down entirely. "Where's this coming from Booth?" Before he could think of an answer, her eyes darkened. "Did… Angela say something…?"

"No,." he answered quickly, although the anxiety in his voice instantly confirmed there had definitely been something off with that foster home. He quelled the sudden burning need to know more. Brennan was staring at him warily; if anything, this had just decreased her level of trust.

"If you want to ask me something, just ask, Booth," Brennan said flatly, clearly not believing him.

"Okay," he said, seizing on this directive. "What do you have nightmares about?"

Brennan's eyes widened; she was now staring at him as if he was speaking a different language. "What does that have to do with the foster home I was in when I knew Angela?"

"Nothing. You just said if I wanted to ask you something, I should. And I've been wanting to ask you that. So…" He shrugged. "I asked."

Brennan tore her gaze away, staring fixedly at her salad. "It's not important."

"Yes, it is." He frowned. "Bones, look at me. Come on, I'm just worried about you."

"There's no reason to be," she said firmly.

"Except clearly there is." Booth sighed. "Just tell me something, Bones. Let me in….don't you trust me?"

"This isn't about trust," she retorted heatedly. "It's about irrelevant information. It's in the past, and rehashing every detail will serve no purpose."

Silence hung for a moment between them, and when Brennan glanced up, her stomach twisted guiltily at the helpless expression on Booth's face.

She sighed. "Booth, please, I…I just don't want to talk about it? Can't you accept that. There are certain things I prefer not to discuss and…I don't see the benefit of defying that preference."

"But it could help to…get those feelings out."

"I hate psychology," Brennan stated, one of her many catchphrases, with an air of finality.

Before Booth could think of a reply, he saw Brennan's eyes widen in horror. Turning, he saw one of their regular waitresses , the cheerful older woman who always remembered their orders and usually worked nights, approaching. "I was so thrilled when Sally told me you two were back!" she gushed, putting a hand on Booth's shoulder and smiling at them warmly. "Haven't seen either of you since the night she walked away before you showed up," she stated, smiling teasingly at Brennan, who looked like she was barely suppressing the urge to attack the woman.

Off Booth's perplexed expression, the waitress clarified, "Got here before you one night a couple weeks ago. Ordered you your pie as always, but when I came back out from the back she was gone."

Booth's eyes found Brennan's, his heart hitching in his chest. Her one admittance about that month echoed in his head, what she'd told him last time they'd been here with Parker.

_I only came here once when you were…when you were gone. And I left without eating anything._

She'd ordered pie? And just left it there?

For him?

Brennan's eyes closed, unable to stand the overwhelming sympathy and tenderness in Booth's gaze. She hated the waitress, hated this diner, hated that stupid piece of pie she'd tried.

Salvaging the situation best he could, Booth shot a charm smile at the woman. "I remember that evening, now that I think about it. We got called into work unexpectedly…just came long enough to pick up Bones here."

The woman beamed at him. "Oh, well that explains it. Can I get you two anything else?"

"Just the check," Brennan gritted out tersely before Booth could say anything.

Oblivious to the effect she'd had on the two partners, the waitress bustled away.

Booth studied Brennan, who was looking anywhere but at him, debating saying something. After a moment, he wisely decided to leave it alone. They sat in uncomfortable silence until she brought the check back, and soon they were walking out to the SUV.

"Still want to go to the lab?" Booth asked, determinedly cheerful.

"Yes."

Booth sighed inwardly at the monosyllabic answer. "I'll come back and get you on my way home."

Brennan was staring blankly out the window. "I'm sure Angela can give me a ride."

"It on my way," he said. "We are going to the same place."

She shrugged. "Fine."

Booth gave up after that, and they made the short trip to the Jeffersonian in silence. To his surprise, though, when he pulled up to the front, Brennan hesitated. "Are..you going to be working on paperwork all afternoon?"

"Most likely. Unless something comes up that _I_ have to take for some reason."

Brennan nodded, chewing absently on her lower lip. "Alright."

Booth smiled a little. "I'll see you in a couple hours, Bones. Have fun playing with your skeletons."

She almost smiled. "See you, Booth."

~(B*B)~

"Female," Brennan stated conclusively. "Mid twenties, early thirties…"

She was bent over the forensic platform, looking at the latest victim from Limbo. She had faced only minor protests from Cam ("Dr. Brennan, it's called medical _leave_ for a reason, you aren't supposed to be working.") before everyone gave up and let her work.

It was the calmest she'd felt in weeks, to be honest. The hours were passing so much more quickly than they had earlier that morning. So much so that she didn't notice when everyone began getting ready to leave.

Angela placed a hand on her best friend's shoulder. "Hey, Sweetie, that's enough work for today."

"Booth's coming to get me when he's done, so I can keep working for awhile," Brennan explained absently.

"Come on, Bren, let's go to your office and talk. At least until he gets there."

Brennan finally raised her head to look at Angela. Seeing the serious expression on her best friend's face, Brennan nodded reluctantly. "Alright."

Soon, they were settled on Brennan's couch. Before Angela could begin, Brennan asked hesitantly, "Ange, this may sound…strange, but…have you said anything to Booth about the Hurwitz's?"

Angela's eyebrows shot up. "God, no. Never. Why?"

Brennan shook her head. "He was asking me questions about when we met, and how they were…it seemed so out of nowhere." She rolled her eyes. "Of course, then he went right back to asking about the dreams."

"You should just tell him, Sweetie. He's worried about you. It might help him understand."

"There's nothing for him to understand, Ange," Brennan countered, instantly defensive. "I don't understand why he thinks it will help so much."

"It's not just the nightmares, Bren," Angela said quietly. "I've been saying this whole time…you need to tell him what it was like for you, he needs to know. And you need to be able to talk about it."

"It's over, Ange. I don't want to talk about it, I just…I just want it to be over."

"I know. But it's not over if you're dreaming all the ways he could die."

Brennan was quiet for a moment. "I was afraid for him to go back to work, Ange. I keep thinking…there could be another phone call, another agent."

Angela reached out and rubbed Brennan's arm reassuringly. "I know, Sweetie. It's dangerous work. But Booth will be alright…he's good at what he does. You both are. He's careful."

"He wasn't that night," Brennan pointed out, grimacing a little. "He acted without thinking, jumping up like that, putting himself right in the line of fire. He wasn't being careful, he was being reckless."

Sighing, Angela agreed, "Well, yeah. But that's because it was about keeping _you_ safe, not himself."

Brennan closed her eyes, and exclaimed, her voice thick, "Exactly. So what happens when I go back to fieldwork? What happens when the next unbalanced suspect takes a shot at me?"

It was Angela's turn to grimace. "Don't talk like that, okay? If you get yourself hurt again, Brennan, _I_ am going to kill you. I'm serious."

Brennan shook her head, flippantly dismissing that idea. "I'm not talk about me getting hurt, Ange. I'm talking about Booth being reckless again because he perceives some sort of threat to me."

Angela smiled sadly. "Well, I can't tell you that won't happen again, Bren. No way that man lets you get hurt."

Brennan's eyes narrowed, and she retorted heatedly, "That's the problem. It isn't fair, he should let me take care of myself. He shouldn't get to make the decision."

"Bren, what if it was him? What if you saw someone taking a shot at Booth? Would you step in front of him?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Brennan answered, "Ideally, I would pull him out of the way. How close am I? And how close is the assailant? When you see I see them taking a shot, what stage-"

Suppressing a groan, Angela cut her off, "Bren, if it was the same situation. If you had a split second to do something. Would you stand up in front of Booth?"

Brennan met Angela's eyes, no hesitation in her answer. "Yes."

Angela shrugged. "You see? It's the same for him."

"Booth has a child. It would make sense for me to-"

Angela interrupted, "I'm getting a serious sense of déjà vu here, Bren."

Without missing a beat, Brennan informed her mildly, "Doesn't exist."

Rolling her eyes, Angela told her, "Look. This whole savior complex for each other, which you both have, by the way…it means something, Sweetie. He saved you because he loves you too much to live without you. You nearly died because _you_ love him too much to live without him. That's why you're so scared. Love is _terrifying_. It's the scariest thing in the world. But you were wrong the other day. Because it is _so_, so worth the risk."

Brennan held Angela's gaze, feeling a few of the tears that had gathered in her eyes slip down her cheek. Voice a tremulous whisper, she stated, "I _can't _watch him get hurt again, Ange…"

"I know, hon. And chances are you probably won't…"

Brennan swiped at her eyes. "And I cannot be the reason he gets hurt again."

"Sweetie, you _weren't-_"

Her voice cracked, "And I can_not_ lose him again, okay? I _can't_." A sob erupted from her throat. "I can't, I can't go back, I can't let him-"

"Okay, okay…ssh, Sweetie, it's okay. Booth's going to be fine." Angela soothed, wrapping her arms around Brennan, letting her cry like she hadn't in awhile. "Everything's okay."

~(B*B)~

Booth was walking swiftly through the Jeffersonian. He'd been thinking all afternoon, about his conversation with Sweets that morning, and his disastrous attempt at getting Bones to open up at the diner.

He should just sit her down, be honest and blunt. No manipulation, just honesty. That was how Bones operated. He would do it when she couldn't run. He'd make her listen. He would make her tell him.

Sweets said he could do it. He'd said Bones would, eventually, open up to him. And Sweets said it could help, and Booth _had_ to do something that helped.

The forensic platform was empty, and Booth rolled his eyes inwardly; of course Bones, who wasn't even officially working, wouldn't have called him if everyone else went home.

He scanned his card and took the platform steps two at a time, scanning the lab absently as he headed toward Brennan's office where, as he'd expected, a light was on.

He approached quickly, looking toward her desk and, as he got closer, was surprised to see no one sitting there. Booth stopped, several paces away from the door, scanning the office.

Bones and Angela were sitting on either ends of the couch, their backs to the door, but slightly turning toward each other, so he could just make out their profiles.

He nearly entered the room, but then he got a glimpse of Brennan's face. The look on her face was distressed, and _raw_, an expression he only saw in the middle of the night.

Angela's hand was on Bones' arm, rubbing absently. Angela was speaking, her eyes wide and earnest. And Bones was listening intently.

He saw Brennan swipe at her eyes as tears dripped down her cheeks.. He watched her began to speak, words he couldn't hear, words he couldn't make her say. Her face crumpled, and Booth watched Angela start to nod, pull Brennan into her arms. He watched Brennan cry against Angela's shoulder.

And yeah, it made his chest ache and his throat constrict, the way it always did when saw Brennan in pain. But it also sent a burning sensation of jealousy bubbling up from his gut. In that moment, he was so damn jealous of Angela he couldn't see straight.

He thought of Sweets, what he'd said.

_Agent Booth, I know that when she's ready to talk about it, you're the one she'll go to_

But, then in the next second, other statements popped into his head.

_Does she trust him?_

_It is a trust thing._

Booth's chest ached.

Bones didn't trust him.

He took a view steps back, out of sight but still watching as Bones continued to cry. Then, he spun, moving blindly down the platform, where he very nearly broke into a run.

Booth drove until he ended up at the Founding Fathers bar, a place he used to go when he hung around with cops instead of squints, a place he knew no one would find him.

He ordered a beer and stared at it for a good ten minutes before whipping out his phone and dialing. "Bones? Hey, it's me…listen is Angela or someone still around at the lab? Great, do you think they could give you a ride back to the apartment, I….I'm going to be a little later than I thought. Yeah, good, I'll see you soon."

He put the phone down on the counter in front of him.

~(B*B)~

That morning, Brennan would never have thought she'd be relieved to hear Booth would be at work later than expected. But after her completely unwarranted breakdown in her office, Brennan was glad for the ride home and the extra time to compose herself before she saw him.

Angela insisted on hanging around until Booth got back, settling herself on the couch while Brennan washed her face and reapplied her makeup in the bathroom.

When Brennan emerged, Angela smiled. "Want to grab some dinner? I'm starving."

Brennan glanced at the clock, hesitant.

Angela assured her, "We can call Booth, ask if he wants us to bring him something…or meet us there, if he's ready."

Brennan nodded slowly. "Alright."

"Great," Angela stood, leading the way out the door as Brennan pulled out her cell phone. "You feel like Italian?"

~(B*B)~

Booth was still sitting at the bar, the beer bottle only half empty. His phone buzzed on the counter in front of him, and, glancing at the name, he let it ring three times before deciding to answer.

"Hello? Hey, Bones, yeah, I'm still working….no. Thanks, but, I'm fine, you and Ange go ahead. I'll grab something on the way home…could still be awhile here. Bye."

Hanging up, he put the phone back down, flicking it so it spun in a circle on top of the bar.

Then, he grabbed a menu and started to pick out his dinner.

~(B*B)~

Brennan and Angela went to a little Italian restaurant, one of their favorites, and Angela made a decision not to try any deep, Booth related discussion at dinner.

Angela steered the conversation in a light direction, gossiping about Jack and Sweets and Zack and Cam, everyone they knew except for Booth.

It was Brennan, though, toward the end of the meal, who brought Booth up.

"I still don't understand," she began contemplatively, "why Booth was asking questions about…us when we were sixteen. And the Hurwitz's."

Angela shrugged a little. "What did he ask?"

"Initially, he just wanted to know how we met in high school. He didn't know that. And he asked how long I was there, and what they were like…"

"He was probably just trying to get you to talk about it."

"Why?"

Angela half-smiled. "You won't open up to him about what happened when he was dead. He just wanted to know if he was still…the person you could tell things to."

Brennan sighed, "That's not very logical." She paused, sipping her water, eyebrows drawing together. "It's strange…how did he even know there was something to tell."

"Maybe…maybe he just inferred that from the e-mail." Angela glanced at her. "Did you tell him anything?"

"No." Brennan pressed her lips together. "That was sixteen years ago, Ange. It's even less relevant than what happened last month."

Angela rolled her eyes upward. "I'm not going over _that_ again. You know how I feel about that, I think you should talk to him, end of story. But about…_those people_," Angela gritted it out. "…you'll tell him eventually, someday." They fell silent for a moment, then Angela asked, "You think about that much?"

"No," Brennan stated resolutely. She glanced up, studying the look on Angela's face. "Do _you_?"

Angela laughed once, humorlessly. "Recently? All the time. Not as much since Booth came back, but in that month…" Angela's eyes darkened. "And when you were gone, when I got that e-mail…yeah, all the time."

Brennan wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too," Angela said. "So sorry."

A heavy silence settled between the two friends, and then Brennan offered, "That used to be…those two days, in the trunk. That used to be the worst thing that had ever happened to me."

Angela met her friends' eyes, completely understanding the unspoken part of that statement. "But not anymore."

"No," Brennan agreed quietly. "Not anymore." She sighed shakily. "It's illogical, of course, but…I'd rather go back there, live in that house for another couple of years than…than do last month over."

"I know," Angela said, squeezing her hand briefly. "But you don't have to do either. Ever again, so everything is okay."

"I won't let him get hurt again," Brennan said quietly; unlike earlier though, her voice was almost fierce; determined.

"I know, Sweetie. I know you won't."

~(B*B)~

It was nearly eleven that night when Booth walked back into the apartment. Brennan was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the door, her face pale, that relieved expression breaking over her features as soon as he walked in.

"Hi," he said, not smiling.

"Hey." Brennan swallowed, running a hand through her hair. "It's pretty late."

"Yeah, I know I was held up at work," he muttered, his back to her, kicking off his shoes.

"I called," Brennan said, an accusation working its way into her tone.

"Yeah," Booth said, tone flat. He turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Were you _worried_?"

Brennan blinked at him, taken aback by the harsh tone. "I…what?"

Booth swallowed hard, drawing in a breath. Forcing a calm he didn't feel into his tone, Booth said, "I just…I just got held up. And I thought you were with Angela."

"She left an hour and a half ago." Brennan's eyes followed Booth as he walked into the living room, completely confused by his surly, short demeanor. She thought back to the car after the diner; she'd been quiet, sure, but he hadn't seemed upset with her.

She watched him for a moment, wanting to ask if he was alright, a question reserved for her lately. But it tangled in her throat, and instead she heard herself saying, "I had some leftovers if you wanted something."

"I grabbed some food," Booth said gruffly, eyes on the TV.

Brennan tentatively moved closer, sitting down at the opposite end of the couch. "Is…is everything okay? With Cullen and work?"

Booth sighed, his stomach clenching. He finally looked at her, out of the corner of his eye, and the earnest, uncertain expression on her face softened him a bit. After all, it wasn't completely her fault she didn't trust him. Sweets had said she saw emotions as a weakness, and that everything that had happened made it hard for her to trust him.

"Everything was fine, just catching up on paperwork from the Reynolds case." He cast her another sidelong glance; Brennan's head was lowered. Feeling like an ass, Booth moved a couple of inches closer, bumping his shoulder against hers, attempting a smile. "It'll be better when you get back, you know? Get started with cases again…do what we do best."

Brennan raised her eyes, looking like she felt worse, not better. "I…I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

Looking away, Brennan stated slowly, sounding as if every word was painful. "I'm not…certain I'll be…going back to field work."

The last remnants of his smile falling away instantly, Booth stared at her, his voice hard. "Why?"

Forcing her tone to remain even, Brennan answered, "I've been giving it some thought, and I just…working that close with the FBI, with Deputy Director Cullen…he was deceptive, and disrespectful. I don't owe him help, I can't work-"

Booth was glaring at her now, and his voice was loud when he cut her off, "Last week you said Cullen made a professional choice. You said you weren't at all angry at him."

"Well, I've thought-"

Shouting, Booth said, "No, this isn't about Cullen, this is about _you_. You and me, because you're sitting here saying you're done being partners, done with everything we've done for the past three years. You're sitting here and saying you want to throw that away, you _will_ _tell me WHY_."

Brennan's eyes were wide. He could see her struggling for an answer,

He gave her about ten seconds, then shook his head, disgusted. "You know what, Bones? Just forget it….I'm done."

"What? Booth-"

He stood violently. "I'm done, Brennan."

Brennan stared at Booth's retreating form, and in the next second, the door to his bedroom slammed behind him, sending a clear message, one that made Brennan's heart drop, and her eyes welled instantly.

Brennan sat in the living room for a long minute, staring at the closed the door. She could feel herself begin to shake.

Until that moment, she had nearly forgotten an important fact she'd learned early on.

There were all kinds of ways people could leave Some powerful, unstoppable outside force was not necessary to take them away.

Sometimes, people could leave you all on their own.

~(B*B)~

She stayed in the living room for a few hours, until it was just after one in the morning, and she finally gave up on that door opening again.

He wasn't coming out to apologize, or to let her apologize. He wasn't coming out to tell her to come in.

Brennan was exhausted. She'd been up most the previous night, worried about Booth going back to work, and the effects of it were beginning to hit her. Her eyes were burning, lids heavy.

She finally stood, moving toward Booth's bedroom door (_their_ bedroom door, until tonight). Tentatively, she reached out and touched the doorknob, rotating it the slightest bit.

He'd locked it.

Brennan's stomach folded, her eyes suddenly stinging for a reason other than exhaustion.

She grabbed one of Booth's shirts from the dryer in the laundry room, and her hands trembling as she turned it over in her hands, walking to Parker's room.

Soon she was sliding between cool sheets, shivering. The bed, in spite of the fact that it was a double compared to Booth's larger queen mattress, felt huge and empty.

She flicked off the lamp, burrowing herself in the blankets, closing her eyes and reminding herself that Booth was in the next room.

Brennan didn't want to fall asleep. She didn't want to go sleep without Booth, and she didn't want to go to sleep fighting. She didn't want to go to sleep without a way to make things right.

But after another hour, exhaustion got the better of her, and Brennan drifted off.

~(B*B)~

She dreamt she was in the cave, the serial killer dead at her feet, bleeding from the abdomen. She dreamt she was waiting to die.

Then Booth came for her, just as he had in reality. Speaking to her, touching her, holding her.

But then she dreamt that he let her go, letting her slide from his grip. She felt the stone floor underneath her, slick with blood. Saw him walking away, leaving her behind in the darkness.

Then she dreamt she was waking up in the hospital, with only Angela and Hodgins, Booth nowhere in sight. A tube down her throat and pain in her stomach, everything exactly as it had been for a month.

And then, when she woke up, in Parker's bed instead of a hospital bed, the other side of the bed empty and cold, Brennan's throat felt full, her lungs tiny and paralyzed.

The sheets were tight around her, and Brennan began thrashing desperately, needing out, out of the bed, out of the room.

_Booth's in the next room_, she reminded herself as she stumbled into the living room. She needed to see him, but the bedroom door was locked. He'd shut her out.

Brennan had to get out. She couldn't stay here, she _shouldn't_ still be staying here. Booth didn't want her here; she didn't want to need to be there.

She began pulling on her clothes, where she'd discarded them in the middle of the living room, her hands shaking so violently she knocked over a couple of picture frame balanced on the coffee table.

Brennan managed to get her jeans on, but she was still wearing Booth's shirt when her legs buckled and sank to the floor, bracing her fists on the carpet, half-sobbing, half gasping for breath as unwarranted images exploded in her mind.

~(B*B)~

Booth heard the crash in the living room and he sat up. For a disorienting moment, he panicked with the realization that he was alone, but then he remembered. He'd shut her out.

He'd almost convinced himself he'd imagined the crash when he heard, faint and quiet but unmistakable, violent coughing and gasping coming from the other side of the door.

He leapt from the bed, legs tangling in the sheets so that he had to jerk them free. His fingers fumbled with the lock on the door, and then he was tearing out into the living room. "Bones!"

She was crouched on the floor, gasping for breath. Booth was at her side in seconds, crouched next to her. "Bones, Bones, look at me…"

Unlike most nights, where she instantly sought out his embrace, Brennan jerked away from him, shaking her head. He caught a glimpse of her tear streaked face. "Bones…"

"No, I-I have to go, I have to leave…"

Alarm swelled in Booth's chest; Bones' face was pale and sweaty, and she was trembling violently under his touch.

Booth took firm hold of her arms, holding her steady. "Bones. Temperance, I need you to breathe for me."

"Let go," she whimpered, wrenching her arms away. "Let me go, I can't be here…" For a moment, it was a struggle, as he tried to still her and Brennan tried to get away. Then, as she pulled her right arm from his tightening grip, Brennan's clenched fist collided with Booth's temple, and he reeled back on his heels.

Brennan froze instantly, sucking in a breath as her eyes widened, horrified. "B-Booth, I…I didn't mean…"

Booth lifted his head, looking slightly dazed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Brennan could feel the tears stinging her eyes again, and she fought them back, unable to stop her voice from hitching. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just-"

Booth reached out, gently gripping her arms, "Bones, Bones. I'm alright, okay? I promise."

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Don't be sorry about _that_, Bones," Booth said quietly; now that Brennan's breathing had returned to normal, his previous attitude was returning. "Be sorry about the bomb you dropped earlier."

"I…I don't know what that means."

"You're quitting field work, Bones? And you think you can just tell me that out of nowhere, without explaining?"

Brennan looked away; they were both still sitting on the carpet, and Brennan wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to stop herself from shaking.

When she didn't answer, Booth pressed, "Bones, I'm serious. I'm done, I can't keep…I can't keep doing this if you don't talk to me. I want to know why you want to quit. I want to know who told you I died. I want to know what the hell you're dreaming about every night."

Brennan's throat constricted, and she pulled herself up, standing and walking away from him.

Getting angrier, Booth followed, his voice growing increasingly louder. "Tell me, Bones. Tell me what happened in the mountains with Angela. Tell me about the funeral. Tell me why you moved into my apartment."

"Stop…"

"_Tell me._ I want to know why you were so _unbelievably_ reckless to ditch her in the middle of the park and go after a serial killer _alone_. I want to why you went rappelling down a fucking mountain without a helmet, or why you cut your wrist . Tell me why-"

"_Stop_ it."

"-you took that case in Seattle. Tell me why you decided to go off with Perotta after a serial killer without telling anyone. You _have_ to tell me things, Bones. Or I really am done. I've tried, okay? But it's too hard, I can't watch you hurting like this without doing something about it. So you need to start talking."

For a long moment, Brennan stared at him through a sheen of tears. Then, a catch in her voice, she intoned quietly, "You want me to talk, Booth? You really think that will help? You think it'll help you to know that the doctors said you were going to be fine? That I let Angela take me home so I could wash your _blood_ off my _hands _? That I fell asleep for less than an hour, and the phone rang and woke me up and then Angela was coming to tell me that you had _died_. Does that help you?"

Booth's voice caught in his throat; suddenly, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to hear all this. Tears were working their way down Brennan's cheeks, but her eyes were furious.

"Do you want to know that I couldn't stop crying for hours after Angela told me? Does that make you feel good, Booth? To know that it was sad? Or do I need to tell you that I lived at the office for a week because _I_ didn't want to go home and think about you bleeding out under my hands?" She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "What else was it you wanted to know? Oh, yeah the funeral-"

"Bones," Booth's voice was slightly strangled, working around the lump that had formed in his throat. "You don't have to-"

"No, you wanted to know Booth. You believe this will help, we'll give it a try. You wanna know about the funeral…" She turned abruptly and went into the bedroom; Booth didn't move until she came stomping back out, slamming the folded up flag against his chest. "They gave me _that_. As if I'm your wife or something other than your partner. And people I don't know kept telling me how sorry they were. Do you need to know that when the honor guard started the gun salute it was like I was right back there in the karaoke bar? Or that when that coffin, that fucking _empty_ coffin, went into the ground I couldn't even hold myself up?"

Booth's vision was blurred. He didn't want this anymore. He wanted her to stop.

Brennan's voice was no longer steady, but she kept going. "Do you want to hear that I moved into your apartment when I discovered mine doesn't even have a photo of you in mine? Or that I knew the best course of action was to compartmentalize and distance myself, but I was so afraid of forgetting you that I _had_ to stay here? That I listened to your voicemail message so I wouldn't forget what you sounded like? Can you make it all better now, Booth? Or do you need more?"

His voice hoarse, Booth answered, "Bones, I'm sorry-"

"You want to know that for weeks I couldn't think of anything except how much I wished it had been me? That I _furious_ at you for standing up in front of that woman? Or if that's not enough, how about that I wished I hadn't shot her, so she would have just completed her original objective, because it would have been easier? Because it _hurt_, Booth. It hurt all the time. I could _barely_ breathe. I just wanted it to be over. And _that_ is why I ended up with stitches and a concussion in the mountains with Angela, because it was just easier to deal with that kind of hurt, because I understood it. Nerves and neurons and stimulants, I understand that. It was just _easier_.

"And I went back to field work because I was tired of half-living…that's the expression Angela uses. And, yes, I wanted it to be dangerous. When I took the serial killer case, I thought I might die. And I was _fine_ with that, Booth. Is that helpful to know? That I _wanted_ something to happen to me because everything else _hurt_ too damn much?"

Booth's face was wet, and Brennan was choking back sobs. He tentatively moved toward her, arms out. "It's okay, Bones, you don't have to say anything else-"

She backed away, shaking her head angrily. "No, Booth, you said it would help. You've been pushing me on this for weeks, this is what you wanted. You should probably know that when I initially saw you, in Seattle, I thought it was because I was dying. I have never believed in _anything_ after death, Booth, I've always known how irrational that is, but…but I thought I was dying and you were there for me. And that was the happiest I'd been in a long time."

A muscle was jumping in Booth's jaw; the bitter, acidic taste of bile rose in the back of his throat, and he swallowed harshly. Bones' expression was killing him; her face was contorted, the vestiges of grief plain in her eyes. For once, she wasn't even trying to hide her emotions. They were laid bear for him to see, raw and exposed.

"So there you are, Booth. You have all the data, what's your amazing solution? How does all that allow you to change the fact that I keep dreaming of your death? Even though it's all fabricated…I see you with cancer, or in a car accident, or getting shot by another suspect…and I am _terrified _for you to go back to work, but especially with me because…A-Angela says you aren't cautious when you perceive that I'm being threatened, and I'm afraid of, of it happening again…" The last bit of control crumbled away, and Brennan began to sob.

His voice so shaky and small Booth could barely place it as his own, he managed, "Bones, I'm sorry….I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"You _left_," These words wrenched from some deep, hidden place. "You didn't give me any choice in the matter, you just stood up and left me behind, and, and now you know. Now you know how irrational and pathetic I was for a month, so how does that help you? What does that information enable you to do? "

"You weren't pathetic…" he choked out, still easing closer to her.

She ignored him, still desperately choking out, "You _died_, Booth. You were dead, and I…I can't…I didn't want you to save me…"

His voice rough, Booth told her quietly, "Bones, I won't apologize for saving you. I won't let anyone hurt you, okay? It's my job to protect you, and I wasn't about to…I couldn't let you die, you think I could live with that?"

Her voice thick, Brennan retorted, "So you made _me_? You make me live with it? _Fuck_ you, Booth. You made the decision , you and your overbearing, alpha male tendencies, and I was the one who lost _everything_." She shook her head vigorously, crying, "I hate you."

Booth moved closer, reaching for her, his fingers brushing her wet cheeks with infinite tenderness. "Bones…"

She couldn't meet his eyes. "I _hate_ you…"

There were tears on his face, and Brennan couldn't look at that either. "I'm sorry…"

"I hate you," she repeated, conviction drained from her voice. "I…I…hate…"

Brennan's eyes met Booth's, and it was like something in her chest unfurled, unleashing some burst of overwhelming emotion. Her next words were lost beneath her sudden overwhelming sobs, sobs that wracked her frame, so violently that she would have fallen if Booth hadn't closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms tight around her and guiding her head to his chest.

Brennan didn't think she'd cried this hard since it had first happened, or maybe since the funeral. Booth's hands in her hair, tears dripping from his own eyes as he rocked her gently.

"Sssh, Bones…don't cry, Bones, please, I've got you…" he sighed shakily, pressing his lips to her hair and tightening his grip. "It's okay to hate me…it's alright…."

Brennan shook her head against his chest, drawing back and raising her red-rimmed eyes to meet his. "I-I don't…"

Booth nodded, throat tight. "I know you don't, Bones."

She touched her hand to his chest, her lips trembling as she tried to speak.

His thumb brushing at her cheeks, Booth whispered gently, "I'm sorry I pushed you, but…but I'm glad you told me…"

"There's something else."

Booth tried to hug her again, "You don't have to say anything else…."

Brennan pushed back, her face crumpling. "I want to…" Booth nodded ever so slightly, waiting. "I couldn't handle any of it. When you were gone, I couldn't handle it because I…I love you, Booth." Her voice broke in the middle.

Booth's eyes flooded, his voice strangled as he managed one syllable, her name. "Bones…"

"So you can't ever die, alright?" Before Booth could answer, before he could say anything back, Brennan leaned forward and urgently pressed her lips against his.


	16. Heaven: Little by Little

**A/N: You guys are amazing. 600 reviews. I can't even believe that it POSSIBLE. Seriously, I love everyone who has taken the time to read and review, and I don't know what I could possibly say to express how much it makes my day to hear from you guys. I adore this story, and I'm so glad it's not just me who likes it.**

**That said, I'm sorry it's taken so long. I've mentioned before the craziness of my semester, and the past month or so there's been papers and midterms a couple times a week, not to mention the massive amount of reading. Even fall break wasn't too relaxing. I've worked on this as much as possible, but it's hard to find the free time. Still, we're almost at the end (two chapters left, including an epilogue, after this one), and I'm hoping it won't be too long of a wait.**

**This one's kind of long, and I hope it makes up for the wait at least a little. Enjoy.**

**Chapter Sixteen**

Heaven (Little by little)

_There's a little piece of heaven  
Right here where you are  
The fact that you keep trying  
Is what sets you apart.  
Help me find the reason  
And I'll help you find the way  
To get rid of all your pain  
Little by little, day by day_

You'll get stronger  
If you need me, I'm not far away  
So, just hold on  
I'll help you find a way  
I'll help you find the way

_Theory of a Deadman_

For a moment, Booth was paralyzed; the shock of _Bones_ saying those words hadn't dissipated when she gave him yet another shock.

Then, the best kind of feeling returned, hitting him everywhere, a sudden, dizzying storm of force and light and sensation, and he kissed her back.

Of _course_ Booth kissed her back.

It was an _intense_ kiss, more than anything else, as though Brennan was desperately attempting to pour her grief and fear and sorrow into that kiss, to free herself of it while making him understand.

He could taste the salty wet of her tears, still flowing, but underneath he could taste _Bones_, and she tasted like last Christmas and vanilla and _home_.

Booth kept a hand on her waist, the other threaded through her hair. Brennan had a hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, the other fisting the bottom of his shirt, both keeping him close.

There were things he should be questioning, things to consider, but Booth's brain couldn't work properly, except to notice Bones' hands and lips, because _this_…this was exactly what he wanted and everything that scared him, this was falling off the world and coming home, this was familiar and extraordinary all at once.

Because he loved her. Booth didn't know the exact moment that had actually begun; but ever since she'd been buried underground in a car, it had simply been a fact, permanent, as much as part of him as anything else. Seeley Booth was an FBI Agent, a former sniper, the son of an alcoholic, a father, and a guy who was hopelessly in love with Temperance Brennan.

Who, incidentally, did not believe in love. Or he thought she didn't.

But _she_'d said it. And she'd kissed him.

The kiss lasted a good deal of time, Brennan never losing her desperate fervor. But after awhile he felt her shudder, and then she was crying against his lips, and Booth gently encased her upper lip in both of his one more time before pulling away, just a little, and leaning his forehead against hers.

"I'm _here, _Bones," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? You're stuck with me."

"Okay," she whispered. Booth leaned forward to kiss her, gentle and quick, pretending it was the most natural thing in the world, only because it was the first time he'd ever had this chance.

Then, he tenderly rubbed the pad of his thumb over every last errant tear before pulling her in for a decidedly non-guy hug.

It would take a few minutes for his brain to be able to produce a coherent thought. Then, maybe, he could figure out why his own _I love you_ hadn't burst forward at the first opportunity, when it had been trapped for so long wanting to get out, existing on the tip of his tongue, the walls of his heart, the forefront of his brain. And now he hadn't been able to say it.

"C'mon, Bones," he murmured against her ear. "Let's go to bed."

She nodded against his chest.

Booth wrapped an arm around her shoulder and they walked to his bedroom.

Brennan climbed into bed first, on 'her' side, which had felt huge and empty without her earlier. When he climbed in next to her, Brennan rolled over and shuffled close to him, so their faces were a few inches apart in the center of the bed.

Booth smiled softly. "Hey."

"Hi," she whispered back. There was a pause, and Brennan bit her lip, looking young and vulnerable and so damn endearing. "I know it was unreasonable to tell you never to die. It's…everyone dies, of course."

He would have laughed if it wasn't for the pained expression in her eyes. "I know, Bones."

"But…can you do everything possible to make sure it's not for a long time?"

Booth smiled, easing even closer and reaching out to touch her cheek. "I'll do my best." Brennan mirrored his movement, inching closer so their noses were nearly touching, and he continued. "You, too."

"Alright," she breathed. Booth nuzzled her nose with his once, and Brennan closed her eyes and closed the already tiny gap to kiss again, much softer and slower than the fervent attack earlier.

After a moment of this, Booth moaned quietly against her lips, his lower half definitely responding. Angling his lower body awkwardly away from her, Booth gently extracted his lips from hers. "Bones?" he whispered, the words falling onto her lips.

"Hmmm?" Her eyes drifted open, a desire that had until now been hidden behind the grief and fear apparent in her eyes. Booth nearly groaned again; Bones had the old biological urges look, and he wasn't going to be able to fight his own much longer.

"I gotta say something…"

Brennan pulled back enough so she could look at him, her eyes suddenly shining, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"You…you don't have to freak out. I…I know this sounds stupid, but you told me things, and I'm glad you did. And I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and freak out because we talked and…you know. And I don't want you to feel embarrassed or wish you hadn't told me because…I get it. I swear to God I do, Bones, because if I ever lost you I don't think I'd be able to pick myself up off the floor."

Brennan's eyes flitted away, and when she looked back at him Booth thought there was disappointment there. Before he could ask if he said something wrong, she answered, "I won't freak out, Booth."

"Oh…okay, good."

Brennan moved back a little. "Goodnight, Booth."

"Bones…" Booth's voice trailed off as she rolled over, sliding back against him, like usual. He wrapped an arm around her, covering her hand with his. "Goodnight."

Twenty minutes later, Brennan's breathing had evened out. It was the first time in the past few weeks that she'd fallen asleep before him.

Booth lightly stroked her hair with the hand that wasn't covering hers, his eyes closed, remembering the way her lips had felt on his, the way she'd tasted.

He loved kissing her. He wanted to keep kissing her, all time. He didn't want to ever kiss anyone else. He wanted to do more than kiss her. He wanted to lock her in this bedroom with him and not come out for days.

And she'd been living with him. Tonight they'd kissed, and she had said she loved him. And he _knew_ he loved her. If it had been anyone but Bones…well, neither of them would be asleep right now.

But Brennan was a person who believed sex was only physical and love was only chemicals firing in the brain. Supposedly.

She had changed. He knew that. He'd as good as died and it had changed her. If it hadn't, she wouldn't have been living with him, or worrying so much, or having nightmares. She wouldn't be saying she loved him.

But when more time passed, things would eventually get back to normal. Bones wouldn't be terrified he would die every time they were apart for too long. She wouldn't wake up with nightmares. She'd be able to sleep without him.

And what Booth was afraid of was, when that happened, she would go right back to not believing in love, to trying not to need anyone.

He believed Bones loved him. He heard enough about the month he'd been dead to know that. But he didn't believe that she would accept it when things went back to normal.

Bones had said it. She'd said those three words and she meant them, because Bones was always honest. But Booth knew her well enough to know she might take it back.

And that was something he'd never be able to do.

So he hadn't said. Because once it was out there, he'd never be able to take it back.

~(B*B)~

She woke up on her own, around seven in the morning, with tears drying on her face. It was a hospital nightmare again, and Brennan woke up with a high, monotonous beep of a heart monitor in her ears.

Booth was snoring lightly in her ear, his arms tight around her. Brennan turned her face a little, nestling her cheek against his arm, her breathing slowly becoming less erratic.

The nightmare didn't surprise her. It wasn't as though she thought that opening up to Booth, telling him the truth about the month he was dead and the fears she still had, would stop her from being afraid.

That would only work if the fear was unfounded.

And it wasn't.

Booth was the guy who wanted to fix everything. But even he couldn't change the facts: nothing was constant. He could die at any time, no getting around it. And recent events had proved that no matter how hard she tried to fight it, Brennan needed him too damn much to be able to survive that.

Need. That word scared her even more than love (although that one hadn't been exactly easy to admit, especially since it hadn't escaped her notice that Booth hadn't reciprocated). Because _needing_ people, being dependent on anyone else, was something Brennan had tried to avoid for more than half of her life.

It was irrational, to let your happiness become so reliant on another person. Not when they could die, or leave, without any warning. The only logical way to live was when you relied on only yourself.

It didn't mean being completely alone. It didn't mean having no one. But it meant keeping people at enough of a distance that when they were gone, you would be okay. It meant making sure you could go on.

Brennan didn't know when she'd crossed that line with Booth, when she'd gotten too close. But it was indisputable that she had. She hadn't recognized it before, not until the possibility of losing him became real. But now there was no denying it.

She couldn't survive without him. Her happiness, her _life_, was too entangled with Booth. There was no distance, not even a little.

And now she had those images, of him bleeding out under her hands, of his coffin going underground, and the still too raw memories of what that had felt like…she didn't know how to stop living in this constant state of fear.

She was glad she told him. Because he'd said he understood, that he didn't find her weak or pathetic, and she believed him, finally. She was glad he knew, because Booth was nothing if not protective, and maybe it would make him be more careful.

So Brennan was glad she'd told him, but it didn't change anything. It didn't make things less fragile; because that's what she felt like, that's what everything about her life felt like: fragile, as though everything could fall apart again at any moment, like she was just waiting to find herself back to a few weeks ago, when he was gone.

Brennan wrapped her fingers gently around his forearm and eased herself away from his embrace, standing up from the bed and leaving the room, Booth still sleeping.

~(B*B)~

Booth woke up with his alarm at 8:00, the space next to him empty, and for a moment his heart sank.

Then, as his senses became more acute , Booth was aware of someone moving around outside his bedroom. He stood, pulling on a T-shirt, and walked outside to find Bones, cooking him breakfast.

For a moment, he leaned against the door frame, a soft smile on his face, both from the relief that she hadn't bolted and the sweet domesticity of the scene ahead of him.

After a minute or so, Brennan turned away from the counter and saw him. "Oh," she smiled a little shyly. "Morning."

Booth grinned affectionately. "Morning, Bones."

She gestured at the pancakes stacked in front of her on the counter. "I made breakfast."

"I can see that Bones," he replied teasingly, remembering saying the exact same thing to her the first morning she'd stayed with him. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know…I just wanted to."

Booth smiled, touched, and then rubbed his hands together, surveying the food. "Well, I won't turn that down." He watched Bones for a moment, studying her. She really didn't seem to be freaking, which was sort of amazing considering that she'd dropped the L-word, _and_ they'd kissed.

Brennan through a look over her shoulder, looking puzzled to see him still standing in place. "It'll just be a few minutes…"

"Sure, cool. I'll go get dressed for work, and then we can eat."

She murmured an affirmative, and in a couple minutes Booth reemerged, suited up and went into the kitchen, laying a hand on the small of Brennan's back as he poured a cup of coffee. "Smells good."

She turned a little, half smiling. "Thanks." Her eyes moved over him quickly. "When you go into work, can you take me to the lab again?"

"Just to visit, right? Not to work." He winked at her. "Sure, I can do that. As long as you'll have lunch with me."

"Sure. Thanks," she smiled gratefully, then reached up and straightened his tie. Booth smiled down at her, suddenly wanting to kiss her so badly he couldn't focus.

So he did. It was a risk he could let himself take, and he leaned down and kissed her softly, as though this was a habit, just something they _did_. It was brief, and he pulled back to find her flushing slightly. Brennan opened her mouth to say something, but then closed her mouth and smiled a little. "You have time to eat?"

"Yeah, I do. Definitely."

He began piling pancakes and bacon and eggs onto his plate, his heart thumping pleasantly. He knew better than to ask the dreaded _What does this mean _question. Knew better to even acknowledge it, to act like something had shifted.

All he knew to do was enjoy it, and hope to God that, as Bones got better, they would keep moving forward instead of back.

They sat down at his table together, smiling at each other.

"Parker has a soccer game tonight," Booth informed her between bites of food. "Wanna go?"

Brennan smiled instantly at the mention of the boy. "Sure. I did tell him I'd come to the next one."

"He'll be thrilled."

Soon they were finished with breakfast, Booth complimenting the food incessantly, and left the apartment. Soon, Booth was dropping Brennan off at the lab, promising to return around one for lunch.

~(B*B)~

"What if Hodgins died?"

Angela raised her eyes from her sketchbook, where she was working on a facial reconstruction for one of the limbo cases. Brennan was sitting at her desk, waiting, and going through another set of bones.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you ever think about it? About what you would do if he died?"

Angela sighed, her pencil stopping as she stared at her best friend incredulously. "God, Bren. No, I don't…I try not to think about everything bad that _could _happen, especially when it probably won't."

"You don't know the probability of that."

Angela sighed, picking back up her pencil. "The point is, Sweetie, I prefer not to constantly fear the worst…that's no way to live life."

Brennan fell silent for a moment, propping her chin in her hand, studying Angela. After a few minutes of silent sketching, Brennan broke the silence, "_You_ could die, too."

"_Wow_, you are just full of cheery thoughts today." Angela scrutinized her friend, closing the sketchpad and setting it in front of her. Brennan looked sad and contemplative. "What's going on?"

"I've just been considering how...delicate the state of human contentment is."

"That's kind of broad. Want to narrow it down a little?"

Brennan's eyes flitted down to her desk. "It's distressing. Caring about a person, when at any point they could be taken away. When there's nothing you can do about it. It's almost not worth it, when you consider the risks."

Angela tilted her head at Brennan. "Having people in your life isn't worth it?"

"There's a flaw in the design. We should be able to handle the worst, even if it means the loss of someone we care about."

Angela shrugged. "I like to think we aren't given anything we can't handle. Somewhere inside us, we have means of survival we don't even know about. Even if something is too horrible to contemplate…we find a strength somehow." She smiled, a little sadly. "You taught me that, Bren. Years ago. _You_ showed me how strong people can be. We _can_ handle the worst, even if it seems impossible."

Brennan pressed her lips together and met Angela's eyes, a pained expression in them. "Except I _couldn't_ handle it, Ange. The worst…it happened, or at least I thought it did, for a month, and I absolutely _could not_ handle it. If Booth hadn't come back, if he had really been…I would not have made it. You know that's true, Ange. It's a fact."

Angela nodded a little, not disputing.

"How can I _not _think about it constantly? When it could happen again, except it could be real. How can I _not_ be terrified of losing him?"

"Sweetie…"

"I let myself get too close, Angela. I let myself care too much about him."

"That's not a bad thing, Bren." Angela gave her a sympathetic look. "If you just _talk_ to Booth about this."

Brennan met her eyes, defiant. "I did."

Eyes widening, Angela repeated, "You did?"

"Last night."

"Did you tell him _everything_?"

Impatient, Brennan answered, "I gave him enough to form a very accurate portrait of the month he was gone. And as I've stated, it didn't solve anything. Booth knowing how I felt doesn't make something less likely to…happen to him again. It didn't make the nightmares go away. And it doesn't change the fact that I have grown far too dependent on Booth."

Angela nodded a little. "So you aren't even a little bit glad you told him?"

Hesitating for a moment before answering, Brennan admitted, "It was a bit of a relief to tell him. At the very least he'll stop questioning me constantly. I'm just…I'm still scared, Ange."

Angela reached across the desk, covering Brennan's hand and squeezing. "I know you are, Sweetie."

Brennan exhaled heavily, raking her hands through her hair, frustrated. "I was foolish to let it get to this point. Booth and I…I need him too much. We're too close. Especially now, when I can't sleep if he isn't less than two feet away from me. Even though we'll never be anything resembling a romantic couple, he's still…he's my family."

Frowning, her eyebrows drawing together, Angela protested, "Back up. Who says you'll never be anything resembling a romantic couple. You already _resemble_ a romantic couple, Bren. You're living together, for God's sake. Not to mention the fact that everyone who has met you two over the past few years automatically assumes you're together."

Brennan lowered her eyes, and attempted a casual voice. "Booth doesn't feel that way about me."

Making a scoffing sound, Angela instantly countered, "That's definitely inaccurate. Come on, Bren, that man is completely in love with you, why would you say that?"

Grimacing, Brennan was quiet for a long time before she admitted "I did what you said and I told him I…I loved him."

Angela's mouth fell open, her eyes lighting up. "Sweetie, you _told him that? _I am so proud of you-"

Ignoring her, Brennan continued in a rush, "-and he didn't say it back, and I understand that reciprocity is the accepted social requirement if one does in fact…share the sentiment. Which Booth clearly doesn't." Brennan pressed her lips together tightly for a second before adding resolutely, "It doesn't matter, it's…it's better that way. A romantic relationship would be even more ephemeral, and could potentially make us even closer…emotionally. I certainly don't need that."

Angela gave her a sympathetic look, the one that said she was seeing right through the supposed apathy. "I don't buy it, Bren. No way Booth doesn't…the way he feels about you isn't exactly a secret. How'd you tell him, did you even give him a chance to say it back?"

"Yes," Brennan said defensively. "I paused, and he just said my name but that's...and then later, I thought he might but…" Her voice trailed off. "It doesn't matter. That wasn't my point, Angela."

Angela shook her head, clearly unwilling to let it go. "I need more than that, Sweetie. I need context. Specifics."

Brennan hesitated, then said, "Fine. We were fighting, I suppose…" She gave Angela a basic run down of the evening, the way she'd finally been pushed into telling him everything, how upset she'd gotten, talking about it, and finally how she had blurted out the truth.

"…and I told him I hadn't been able to handle him…dying because…I love him." Angela smiled widely, eyes shining with pride, as Brennan gave her an almost accusing look, as if to say it was all her best friend's fault for bringing that fact to her attention. "And he, you know, just said 'Bones…' and then I said he couldn't ever die, which in retrospect was foolish and unrealistic, and then I…" she stopped talking abruptly.

"You what?" Angela prompted.

Brennan sighed. "I kissed him."

Angela let out a squeal that made Brennan jump a little. "You _did?_ Brennan, I am so proud of you, I could…" She stopped abruptly, pulling a questioning look. "Did he kiss back?"

"Yes….a couple times, actually."

Angela squealed again, beaming. "Well, you see? How can you say he doesn't feel that way about you?"

Brennan shrugged dismissively. "Biological urges don't necessarily indicate emotional-"

"Don't give me that biological urges crap, Bren. You know what, he was probably _speechless_. Or…" Angela stopped, hesitating.

"Or what?"

"Or he's just afraid you didn't mean it."

Brennan frowned. "That's ridiculous. He knows I don't lie, or throw sentiments like that around frivolously."

"I know, Sweetie, but…you were emotional, you know? And you have every right to be, but lately he's seen you getting emotional and then…pretending that you didn't. Like when he sits up with you after nightmares? Maybe he was afraid that you'd regret saying it."

Brennan stared at her for a moment, as though considering this, then shook her head a little. "I doubt it, Angela. Believe me, I assured him I wouldn't freak out. But in any case, that isn't my point."

Giving up, Angela asked, "So what _was_ your point?"

"That…I need to step back. I need some distance."

"You don't," Angela countered instantly.

Brennan met her eyes , expression serious. "I can't live with him forever, Angela. I can't spend every night for the rest of our lives in his bed. That's illogical."

"Yeah, but…it's okay if you need more time. And if you keep going the way you're going, chances are you _won't_ have to spend that many nights away."

Brennan shook her head vigorously. "Booth wants…he wants marriage and more children and…he wants someone who can give him that."

"Booth wants _you_, Sweetie."

"He doesn't," she said firmly. "And in any case…I've just said I need to gain more distance. Beginning some sort of…_relationship_ would be counterproductive." She looked away, speaking quickly. "Relationships are transient. They end in a way other interpersonal relationships don't…I can't…" Brennan's voice caught a little, but she finished firmly, "I can't create another possibility to lose him."

"Honey…" Angela said. "Is this all because he didn't say it back? Because I really think-"

"It's not," Brennan insisted, only half convincingly. "As I said, it's better that he didn't. I can't keep being this scared, Angela."

"You won't feel like that forever, Bren." Angela leaned forward, choosing her words carefully. "Look, let me give you some advice. Don't think so much, okay? Let whatever's happening with Booth happen. It sounds like it's going somewhere good. And as logical as you are…you should know that worrying about something that _might_ happen in the future isn't beneficial."

Brennan shook her head a little. "I can't…I don't think like that, Angela. I'm afraid, all the time, you just don't-"

Angela arched an eyebrow. "I don't what, Brennan? I don't understand?" The tone in her voice stopped Brennan, who gave her a quizzical look. "I don't understand being scared? I _understand_ being scared, Brennan, you made sure of that."

Guilt automatically twisting in her gut, Brennan said wearily, "Yes, Angela, I know, you've worried about me half your life-"

"I'm not even talking about that," Angela said. "I'm talking about the e-mail you sent me. The one that basically said 'I'm going to die soon, but don't feel too bad about it'? Do you know what I'm referring to?"

"Angela…"

"No, Bren, listen. Here's what _I _got out of everything that happened. My best friend got shot at. My other friend took the bullet, and as far as we knew, he died. And _then_ my best friend, having narrowly escaped dying herself, decided she didn't want to live anyway. So she proceeded to throw herself off of mountains and cut her wrist-"

"Why are speaking about me in the third person?"

Ignoring her, Angela continued, "-open in the kitchen, then left on some mysterious serial killer case, hoping to die. And she sent me this e-mail that came pretty close to saying goodbye. And then I got a call saying she'd been stabbed by the serial killer and was in the hospital. So I had to wait, to see if she'd wake up." Angela closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they were wet and fierce. "So I get to be scared of you maybe being shot by an insane suspect. _And_ I get to be scared of Booth dying trying to save you. And _then _I get to worry about you basically killing yourself if that happens."

For a moment they stared at each other, tears prickling the back of Brennan's eyes. Then Angela finished quietly, "I know about being scared, Bren. Believe me."

"Sorry," Brennan murmured. "I'm sorry."

"But I'm not pushing you away, Brennan. I can't do that. I have _never_ pushed you away."

"I know you haven't."

Angela squeezed her hand on the desk between them. "So don't push Booth, okay? You know, you nearly died in the trunk of that car. I spent that night, sixteen years old, in your hospital room thinking you were going to die. But you didn't. And here we are, sixteen years later, and you've almost died a couple times since, including one very recent time, but you _haven't._ You're a survivor. And so is Booth."

"He is. But-"

"No. No buts, just…remember that. Remember how much he's survived already, how much _you_'_ve_ survived. You take care of each other, and you'll keep doing that." Angela smiled slightly. "Let it happen. It's good. And you won't be scared forever."

~(B*B)~

She kept her conversation with Angela in mind that night as they drove to Parker's soccer game. They'd stopped by Booth's apartment briefly to change, and Booth's relaxed, content demeanor was contagious.

He was dressed casually in jeans and a dark shirt, his favorite green jacket. Brennan, too, had on dark jeans and a simple red top that got an appreciative look from Booth when she first emerged from the bedroom.

The sky was pink and orange by the time they got to the spread of soccer fields, the sun close enough to setting so the lights were being turned on. Brennan's eyes moved over the fields, the small crowds of kids in colorful jerseys, before Booth slipped a hand into hers, pointing with his other. "They're the blue team, field three, over there."

Brennan glanced down at their hands, fingers intertwined, as though surprised to find him holding on. She felt a smile tugging on her lips, though, and for just a moment she thought that maybe she could do what Angela said, and enjoy this. Wherever it was going.

After they'd walked about halfway to the soccer field, Booth squeezed her fingers. "Okay?"

"Yes."

"Good." He grinned down at her. "Me, too."

They walked across the grass to the side of one of the fields, and were greeted by Rebecca, "Seeley! Dr. Brennan, hi."

Brennan's slackened her grip just slightly, but Booth squeezed again and didn't drop her hand. "Hey, Bec. Brent." He nodded at the man standing behind his ex. "Bones, this Brent. Brent this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"Partner, huh?" The guy said with a smirk. Rebecca gave him a look, and he smiled. "Nice to finally meet you, I've heard a lot from Parker."

Before Brennan could reply, Rebecca nodded out to the field. "I think he's spotted you."

Booth and Brennan turned their attention to the field, where a knot of blue outfitted boys and girls were gathered in a circle. Sure enough, Parker was turned toward them instead of the coach, grinning broadly and waving.

They waved back, and Brennan stayed mostly quiet at Booth's side as he greeted a few other parents, introducing her, never letting go of her hand. Then, inexplicably, all the parents began to move to the bleachers and sit down, while at the same time the kids began to spread out over the field.

"C'mon, Bones," Booth said, nudging her gently as they followed Rebecca and Brent to a spot on the front of the aluminum bleachers.

For the first half of the game, they all sat together, cheering loudly for Parker and other kids Booth seemed to know, but by the time the second half began, a lot of the fathers had migrated from the bleachers to the line the sidelines.

About two minutes after Brent had stood and joined the other fathers, and Booth was popping up and down on his seat, Brennan laid a hand on his back and said in an undertone, "Go. Go pace."

He smiled appreciatively. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Go ahead."

He squeezed her hand once more before standing and heading over to the grassy area, yelling, "Go for the space, Parks, you got this!"

Rebecca shuffled sideways a little, smiling brightly at her. "They always end up coaching. It's unavoidable."

Brennan laughed a little, shifting slightly on the hard bench.

Rebecca continued, "I'm still figuring out the strategy of all this. Honestly I almost miss the five year old's league, where they all just sort of flock to the ball."

Glancing toward the row of fathers, all squinting at the field like military strategists, Brennan commented, "They seem to enjoy this level of play."

Laughing, Rebecca nodded. "They definitely do." She nodded at Booth, who was standing between Brent and another father, deep in discussion. "This is the first thing Seeley and Brent have found to bond over." She glanced at Brennan. "You and Seeley…I'm glad that's finally happened."

Flushing slightly, and wishing Booth was here to dictate terms, Brennan stammered slightly, "Oh, we…we're not exactly…I mean, I'm staying with him because the doctors…"

"Oh, no I understand," Rebecca said hastily, maybe seeing she'd flustered the other woman. "I just mean…well, you just seem very…close. Even more so than usual, I mean. And he's crazy about you. He's never been able to hide that."

As though he could sense them talking about him, Booth turned at that moment and caught Brennan's eye, smiling and waving slightly. Brennan smiled back, and glanced back to find Rebecca smiling knowingly.

"Parker's definitely liked having you around as well."

Brennan smiled a little. "He's a great kid. I'm not usually adept at interacting with children, but he makes it easy."

She smiled fondly. "Thanks."

The two women were quiet for a moment, watching the game, when Rebecca turned deliberately and said, "Dr. Brennan, that day in the mall…I feel horrible, I had no idea you didn't know Seeley wasn't…"

Brennan swallowed, stiffening slightly, definitely uncomfortable now. "i…I was supposed to, but Deputy Director Cullen decided-"

"I know," Rebecca interrupted gently. "Seeley told me…Must've been awful for you."

"It…wasn't…the easiest month I've had," Brennan acknowledged, staring hard at Booth as though she could silently will him to come back.

"I can't imagine," Rebecca murmured. "I remember when the Rangers shipped him out…we hadn't been together very long, but I spent every day terrified I'd get that phone call." She sighed. "Seeley's never been one to run away from danger. Unfortunately."

Brennan shuddered a little, and Rebecca glanced at her, quickly adding, "But I suppose you understand that. You're his partner, after all, you've had your fair share of danger."

Brennan nodded a little, but then she and Rebecca became aware of Booth and Brent yelling Parker's name, and turned to see him moving with the ball toward the goal.

"Man coming, Parks, man coming!" Booth was as close to the field he could get without stepping over the painted sidelines. "Shoot, _shoot_, sho-YES! Whoo, _that's _what I'm talking about!"

The last part of Booth's cheer mixed with others, as the parents leaped to their feet to celebrate Parker's goal, which put the score at 2-1. Booth turned to look at Brennan, who had stood next to Rebecca and was cheering hard for the boy. Booth grinned proudly and mouthed, "You see that?"

As the parents began to take their seats again, Booth bounded over, reclaiming his place on the bleachers next to Brennan. "You see that, Bones?"

Brennan smiled a little, relaxing slightly at his proximity. "I did."

He grinned proudly. "That's my boy. Ref says only four minutes left on the clock, too."

"Fantastic, I'm starving," Rebecca commented.

Booth glanced down at Brennan. "You okay, Bones?"

She tilted her head to look at him, forcing a smile. "Fine."

Soon, the final whistle was blown, and after a quick line of hand shaking soccer players, Parker broke away from the pack and ran over to the four adults convened on his behalf.

"Dad!" He yelled, running straight to Booth. "Did you see me score?"

Booth hugged him quickly then leaned back to pound his fist. "You were awesome buddy."

Parker turned to Brennan. "Bones, you came! Did _you_ see me score? It was the winning one!"

"I know. You're kinda like the team hero aren't you?" she said with a grin, which Parker returned happily before turning his attention to Rebecca.

"Mommy, can we go to the diner now? Please?"

"Sure, I told you we could."

"Can Daddy and Bones come?"

Rebecca smiled. "They're welcome to."

Parker tipped back his head to look at them. "Please?"

Booth looked at Brennan and smiled, shrugging. "I'm up for it. Bones?"

"Of course."

So, twenty minutes later, Brennan was sitting next to Booth, across from Rebecca and Brent, Parker at the end of the table beaming at all of them. Booth's hand sometimes came to rest on her thigh and she stole fries from his plate. And Parker, who seemed to be directing all conversation, included her as much as any of the others.

As Booth teasingly offered her a bite of his pie to Parker's protests ("Bones doesn't like pie, Daddy, _remember_?"), Brennan wondered, suddenly, when this had become her life. And why something she never thought she wanted was suddenly everything she was terrified of losing.

~(B*B)~

After they left the diner, Parker practically dragged Brennan over to Brent's car to show her his "really awesome" dinosaur book ("It shows _all_ these bones, Bones!"), while Brent followed so as to give Booth and Rebecca time for their usual Parker update discussion.

But Rebecca didn't bring up Parker. Instead, she smiled and said, "So you and Dr. Brennan are…what? Still using the just partners line?"

"Bec…"

She shrugged innocently. "It's just there's the hand holding. And you're still living together." She paused, and when he didn't say anything, she added, "I think it's great, Seeley."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Parker thinks she's 'pretty awesome' apparently, and I…" She trailed off, hesitating.

Booth met her eyes, curious. "What? You what?"

"I don't think I've ever seen you this happy." She half smiled. "And that includes when we were together."

He smiled, almost apologetic. "She's…amazing. She's my best friend, she's family, she's…she's amazing." He rubbed a hand on the nape of his neck, self-conscious. "We aren't officially…anything, though. It's…complicated."

Rebecca patted his shoulder. "You'll figure it out."

He smiled, hopefully, his eyes not on Rebecca, but on Bones, standing next to the open car door dutifully listening to Parker explaining dinosaur bones to her. "I hope so."

~(B*B)~

That night, Booth was laying on his stomach on his bed, ESPN on low volume on the TV, while Brennan was sitting up, leaning against pillows, looking through paper work from one of her limbo cases from the day.

After awhile, Booth threw her a look over his shoulder and commented with a smirk, "You do realize you aren't even technically supposed to be doing work during the day, right?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "It's hardly exerting myself to identify bones, Booth."

He grinned. "I guess not. You'll probably get the clear after tomorrow anyway."

"Oh, right," Brennan remembered with a jolt that her follow up appointment was tomorrow. They hadn't mentioned her assertion that she wasn't going back to field work, and Brennan was starting to regret it anyway. After all, it was like Rebecca had said: Booth was never a person to run from danger. Whether she was there or not, things happened.

Booth sat up a little, switching positions on the bed so he was sitting next to her. "You okay, Bones? You've been kinda quiet all night."

She nodded. "I'm fine."

He didn't push, merely nodded before commenting, "Tonight was fun."

"It was," she agreed absently.

"Hope it wasn't too weird for you with Rebecca. I know you don't know her that well…"

"Oh, no it was fine. She's very nice." Brennan paused, considering, then added tentatively, "She said you've always…run toward danger. Instead of away."

Booth groaned inwardly. That was an age old discussion with Rebecca, and it didn't surprise him that she'd brought it up, but Brennan didn't need to hear that.

Keeping his tone light, Booth shuffled a little closer, bumping her shoulder with his. "Reminds me of someone else I know." Off Brennan's look of utter confusion, Booth clarified, "_You_, Bones. You know, beating up gang leaders and running through dark tunnels and, and… chasing after serial killers."

Brennan's head snapped up at that one. "That was different."

"Yeah, I know." He grabbed the remote and flipped off the television. "Don't worry about me, Bones."

"Right," she murmured sarcastically.

He reached out, resting a hand on hers. Then he told her, "I'm going to bed. I took the morning off, though, so I can go with you to the doctor."

She tipped her head at him. "You don't have to, Booth."

"I know I don't, Bones." He squeezed her hand once. "But I'm with you, okay? I'm in this."

She held his eyes for a long moment, then simply said, "Thanks."

~(B*B)~

Booth woke up a few hours later when Brennan began to twist slightly in his arms.

He became aware of his surroundings quickly; Bones was shaking hard, whimpering quietly, her fingers tightening instinctually around his arm.

"Bones…" He started to gently extract his arm from her grip so he could shake her awake, but she held tighter and shook her head hard, desperate _no_'s tumbling from her lips.

Louder, Booth called, "Bones, Bones, c'mon wake up…" He rested his forehead against her temple, speaking low and soothing, close to her ear. "Bones, I'm right here. Just wake up."

Brennan was gulping air, the kind of gasps that were almost sobs, and he could never tell if she was crying or not.

Slightly more forcefully, Booth pulled his arm away, pulling Brennan up and gripping her chin in his hand. "Bones…open your eyes. Look at me."

With a final shudder, Brennan's eyes opened and met his. "Booth…"

He moved his hand up, cradling her face. "It's okay. You're okay, I'm right here…"

Brennan closed her eyes, leaning into his hand as she tried to calm her breathing. Her face was damp with tears and cold sweat. Booth's heart caught, watching her, as he remembered what she'd said the other night, about how she dreamed various ways he could die. "What happened?"

"Th…there was a suspect and he was shooting…" her voice shattered, and she pulled a hand from his to brush away tears. "I…I hate this, Booth. I can't keep…" She ducked her head, embarrassed, and Booth stroked her hair gently.

"Okay….it's okay. Here, lay back down."

He lay on his side, and she mirrored him, their faces inches apart. Bones' eyes were glistening in the darkness, not looking at him, and Booth reached over to cup her face, his thumb absently stroking her cheek as he said slowly, "When the Gravedigger took you, when you were buried…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "…I had nightmares. For months after."

Brennan's gaze slid to meet his. Her voice hoarse, she asked quietly, "You did?"

He nodded. "Yeah, pretty often. I….the clock ran out. We had it timed, the amount of air you and Hodgins, and it ran out. And I _knew_ you'd do everything it was possible to do to stay alive but I didn't…" He swallowed. "I didn't know how badly you were hurt. I didn't know how much there _was_ to do, I didn't know if we'd make it…so for months I dreamed about clocks running out and I dreamed of pulling you out of the sand but…not alive. Or I dreamed of that damn sand quarry, not finding anything….I dreamed I was running down the hill but not getting to you."

Brennan regarded him seriously for a moment, then rested her hand over his on her cheek. "I didn't…I didn't know that scared you so much."

"It did," he said roughly. "At first it was almost every night." He bit back his next comment, thinking it not necessary to mention that he'd been with Cam at the time, and that he never told her what was wrong, never talked to her about it. "It stopped, for the most part, but still…it still happens every once in awhile. The last time was one night I was at the safehouse.

"Every time it was the same, I'd wake up and I'd want to see you so bad I couldn't breathe. A couple times at the beginning I even..drove to your apartment, in the middle of the night, and just sit outside in the car and watch. Which sounds horrible and stalkerish but I just…I needed to make sure you were okay." He moved closer, his forehead touching hers, his voice barely a breath. "I thought I'd lost you then. It wasn't a month, but it was…too long to think that. I was scared."

"I…" Brennan started, then stopped. After a pause, she told him quietly, "I kept dreaming about the shooting, and then the funeral. And then when we…when you came back I started dreaming about car accidents and cancer and shootings. Once I even dreamt…that I woke up here, alone, and that it had really happened. That you'd never come back, that you weren't alive."

"Mmm…" Booth nodded a little. "There was another dream, that I started having at the safehouse. About you." He traced the streak of a tear that had fallen down her cheek. "You were crying and I couldn't get to you. You were in the lab or my apartment, and I could see you but it was like…through the glass in the interrogation room. And I couldn't get out, and you couldn't hear me. Then you walked away, and the glass would disappear. And I would see what you were crying over." She looked at him, eyes open and questioning. "It was…my body." Brennan flinched a little, but said nothing. "After I had it the first time, I called Cullen and tried to get him to call it off. I practically demanded it, but he wouldn't. I did make him give me a deadline, though." He smiled tightly. "I fought a lot with Cullen after that, believe me."

They were quiet for a moment, then Brennan started, "I fought with Angela. Before I left for Seattle we fought. And we never do that. It was…it was right after we went to the mountains, when I got hurt…and she was scared. She talked to Sweets, about how to help. She didn't know what to do, and when I told her I was going to do something classified out of town she told me not to go. And she blurted out that she told Sweets and I got angry…we had a fight. And I left without apologizing, or giving her a chance. That's why I wrote her the e-mail. I thought if I…if something happened I wanted to make sure that wasn't the last conversation we had."

"That's good that you did that," he said in a low tone. "She slapped me when I first came back. Beat me pretty good actually. She was furious." He smiled. "Which is a good thing; she was looking out for you."

"Yeah, she does that." Booth saw her eyes welling slightly, and he reached around with the hand not on her face and began stroking her hair comfortingly. "She's always done that, and I…I hated worrying her."

"I know."

Brennan sniffled slightly, then told him, "I sort of assaulted an FBI agent."

Booth snorted slightly, taken aback by the change of topic. "What? Which one?"

"Ken Roberson."

"Nice. He's a tool."

"We consulted on a case for him and he wouldn't stop hovering. And then he mentioned you and I lost it a little. I slammed him on a table and threw him out." She smiled, briefly, but it instantly faded. "I was just angry he was there…because you weren't."

"I know." He was quiet, studying her. "Now tell me something good."

"What?"

"Something good. It's late and you're tired, but I want you to tell me something good first.

To his surprise, Bones didn't question him. She stared into his eyes, brown and warm and expectant, for a long moment before saying, "Parker scored the winning goal at his game tonight. And after we left, at the car, he told me he liked me hanging out with you two." Her lips curved upward, just a little. "That's good. Because I generally don't connect well with children, but I think Parker and I get along. So that's good."

"It is," Booth agreed.

Brennan's eyes closed as she began to relax again, slipping back towards sleep. "Now you."

"Now me? Okay…." He thought about it. "I liked having you there tonight. You know, I sometimes feel awkward when Bec and Brent and I do the joint outings with Parker…but you being there helped. Plus, Parker's my family and you're my family so…it was good that you were there. That's my good thing."

Brennan smiled, her eyes heavy. "Thanks, Booth."

"No problem. Think you can sleep?" When she nodded tiredly, Booth rolled over on his back, letting Brennan move closer and tuck her head under his arm. He pressed his lips against her hairline. "Night, Bones."

~(B*B)~

Booth was feeling good the next morning. It had been over a day since Brennan had told him everything, and not only had she not shut down on him, but she'd kept opening up.

Then they went to her doctor's appointment, and everything changed.

"Everything looks good," the doctor told them after he'd examined Brennan's surgical scar. "I'd prefer you to limit overly strenuous activity for awhile, but I see no reason for you to stay out of work."

Booth grinned at Brennan, rubbing his hands together. "That's great news, doc."

The man nodded, smiling slightly, then added, glancing at the chart in front of him, "I saw your surgeon in Seattle also recommended you have someone stay with you."

They exchanged a glance, identical expressions of surprise. Clearing his throat, Booth answered, "She's been staying with me."

The doctor nodded. "Good, good. But you've healed nicely, no reason you shouldn't be able to be on your own."

Booth threw a glance at Brennan, who looked momentarily stricken, which, strangely, relaxed him. He'd forgotten about the pretense for her living with him, to be honest. After all, it had always been about the emotional wounds rather than the physical ones.

But the look on her face…she didn't want to leave either. As soon as he'd finished that thought, though, Brennan's expression melded into one of calm and she nodded at the doctor. "Thank you." She glanced at Booth. "Are we free to go?"

"You are." The doctor shook her hand, and then Booth's. "Good luck to you."

"Thanks."

Booth trailed her into the hallway, an uncomfortable silence enveloping them. Booth closed his eyes briefly, hoping they could just ignore it, pretend the doctor hadn't even brought it up.

~(B*B)~

Brennan had forgotten, honestly, the supposed reason she was living with Booth. Doctor's orders, only a couple days, all the rest of that. The truth is, it had never been about placating anyone. She needed to be there, and not because of any supposed decreased mobility.

But now, as she walked silently out of the hospital, Booth just as quiet behind her, she was thinking about the previous night.

She hated the nights when Booth had to wake her up. As great as he was at calming her down, Brennan couldn't shake the residual embarrassment. It had been long enough, she shouldn't still be like this.

Two nights ago, when she'd started the night in Parker's room…it had taken her so long to fall asleep. She'd still been afraid to sleep without him. But it was like she told Angela; she couldn't stay with him forever.

She would just have to do it. If she spent a night away from him, had to wake up without him there…it would be hard. It would be frightening. But maybe what she needed was to tough it out and realize he'd still be there when she woke up, even if he wasn't right beside her.

She had to figure out how to need him less. Independence never used to be something she had to work at. But now she had to make an effort, even when it was hard.

Because, Brennan reminded herself forcefully, Booth wasn't going to want her there forever. Angela had him wrong. He didn't love her; she shouldn't be surprised. Booth drew the line, after all; she was the one who crossed it, who broke the 'just partners' code that had defined them. It didn't mean he had.

Distance. Eventually, she was going to have to relearn distance. Otherwise she would fall apart every time he had to go out of town.

They didn't speak during the walk to the parking lot, or pulling out. Finally, Booth broke the silence by asking casually, "So you want to go straight to the lab?"

Brennan hesitated, then said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to go back to your apartment…I'd like to get started packing up."

She didn't look at Booth to gauge the reaction, but there was a long pause before he stammered, "Oh…so, so you're…you're moving out? Tonight, really?"

Brennan set her jaw, struggling to keep her tone even. "There's no reason to stay-"

"There isn't?" He slowed the car to a stop at the red light and swung his gaze to look at her.

Eyes drifting shut, Brennan said in an undertone, "Booth…I can't live with you forever."

"I…I know," he answered, even though he really didn't. He hadn't thought of it coming to an end. He'd gotten comfortable. "But you don't, you know, have to go…_today_."

"I've been a burden on you for long enough, Booth."

Booth studied her the best he could, trying to figure out what had happened. "Bones…you're never a burden. Ever."

"You sure about that?" Brennan asked quietly.

"I…" Booth stopped talking abruptly, turning to stare at her, uncertain of what she was referring to.

He pulled up to his apartment, and Booth stopped Brennan before she could open the door. "Bones, wait a second…"

For the first time since they left the hospital, her eyes met his. "Booth, listen…it wasn't your fault that this happened. You don't have to feel obligated to-"

"It's not about obligation, it never was-"

"I can't keep _needing_ you this much," Brennan hadn't meant to say that, but it stopped Booth immediately.

Silence settled for a long moment. Then, her voice calmer, Brennan explained, "I appreciate everything you've done for me, Booth, I do, but…I can't sleep, Booth, if you're not there. And even when you're there I have these nightmares…"

"Bones…" Booth's voice was low and sympathetic, and he reached out instinctually to stroke her hair, but Brennan caught his hand in hers before he could touch her.

"…anyone can see that's not a viable long term solution."

He wanted to protest that, but the pained expression on Brennan's face told him it wasn't the time to push her.

"Okay."

Brennan nodded, hard, then opened the door. "I'm going to go start packing."

"Okay," he said again. "I, uh…I need to run by work for a few hours, cause I…said that I'd come in…"

"That's fine."

"I can bring some Tai food home," he offered, and Brennan's throat tightened at the word, as she realized how much like home Booth's had started to feel. She nodded, wordlessly, and he added, "And then I guess I can…drive you back."

Voice catching, Brennan replied, "Thanks." The door closed behind her, and Booth watched her walk quickly to his apartment building.

"Bye."

~(B*B)~

When she set all the bags in the living room, Brennan was surprised at how much of her possessions had made their way to Booth's. She stood in the middle of the room, staring at it, realizing that she hadn't stayed a night in her own apartment for nearly two months.

The last time she'd been there, actually, besides grabbing more clothes for a few minutes at a time, was the day after the funeral, when she'd been looking for a photo. Because then she didn't have Booth, at all, and she'd thought she'd never see him again.

She didn't notice when she began to cry, but after a moment Brennan sat down on his couch, surrounded by her bags, and pressed a close fist to her lips, crying quietly.

~(B*B)~

Booth got back from work around seven, armed with bags of takeout food and a tentative smile.

"Hungry?" He surveyed the scene in front of him. Brennan was sitting on his couch, staring into nothing, and most of his living room floor crowded with bags. "Wow, that's…a lot of stuff."

"I was here for awhile….without you."

"Right, yeah, I know." Booth forced a smile. "Wanna eat?"

They ate on the living room couch, in mostly silence. There was a kind of gloom hanging over the both of them, and Booth couldn't ignore the panic threatening to choke him. He spent most of the meal rehearsing protests in his head, none of which were good enough.

They'd both been done eating for a long time when Brennan finally broke the heavy silence and said, "We should maybe…get this stuff to the car."

"Oh." He glanced up, as if he'd just remembered what they were doing. "We don't have to go now-"

"Booth," Brennan cut him off, her voice strained. "Please."

He nodded, standing and grabbing bags. "Okay."

Brennan stared out the window the entire drive to her apartment, and Booth kept his eyes straight ahead, still trying desperately to figure out what he hadn't said that could make a difference here.

They pulled up at her apartment building, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Brennan staring up at it for a second before starting to open the door. "Wait," Booth protested before he could stop himself. He reached across her, closing the door, and then let his hand cover hers. "Don't go."

"I have to."

"No, you don't, I told you-"

"Booth," her voice cracked, and she stared at him, eyes bright. "I have to do this. I can't keep…" Brennan closed her eyes, trying to maintain control. "I have to know you're still going to be here even if there isn't always visual proof. I have to…I have to remember how to _breathe_ without you. I have to stop needing you so much."

Booth's hand tightened over hers, his chest aching. "Maybe I'm the one that needs you, Bones."

A tear dripped from eye, and Brennan pulled her hand away from his to brush it away. "You don't…you don't need me, Booth." She looked away, speaking almost to herself. "You don't love me or need me or…" She flushed. "You don't. This is better."

The door closed behind her as she got out of the car, leaving Booth sitting there, slightly stunned as realization crushed him.

After a moment, Booth got out and started carrying bags, following Brennan up to the apartment, which had the definite feel of a place that hadn't been lived in lately.

It took two trips on Booth's part to get everything up; when he returned the second time, Bones was standing in the middle of her kitchen, arms folded, looking like she didn't belong in her own apartment.

"You want me to help you unpack, or-"

"It's fine."

Booth nodded, hesitating, then approached her, tilting her chin to force Brennan to look at her. "Bones, listen…"

Brennan turned her face away, a catch in her voice, "Don't make this hard, Booth. It's not…we'll see each other at work, like we did before." She took a step back, chewing on her lower lip. "Please don't make this hard."

"Okay," he agreed softly. "Okay…do you want to get lunch tomorrow? If we don't have a case I mean? I can come by the lab. For lunch."

Brennan hesitated, then asked, "Can we make it breakfast?"

Booth smiled a little. "Yeah, Bones. I'll pick you up here. The usual time?"

"The usual," Brennan repeated, drawing a breath.

They stood for a moment, looking at each other, and then Booth walked forward, closing the gap she'd created and wrapped Bones in his arms.

For a moment, Brennan stood stiffly, but then she relaxed against, her arms sliding around his waist.

"I'm gonna miss you," he murmured in her ear. "Call me if you need to."

She nodded silently, throat too tight to speak. Brennan let him hold her for a long time before she pulled away, certain she would break down if he stayed much longer. "Thanks, Booth."

Booth hovered for a moment, unwilling to leave her. He knew what to say; Bones' slip in the car had made it clear, but Booth couldn't make himself say it. Not like this, not out of desperation. Not when she might not believe him.

Brennan was backing up, arms folded again, protective. Out of reasons to stay, Booth walked to the door. "Bye, Bones. See you tomorrow."

~(B*B)~

She'd taken a few of his shirts. And Brennan changed into one of them about ten minutes after Booth left. She left her bags packed and on the floor, not wanting to admit to even herself how she hated being here.

She got out her laptop and forced work for a couple hours, anything to ward off the memories of her last night in her apartment, made more difficult from the pile of photographs spread out on her kitchen tile and cracked Foreigner CD lying in her living room floor.

It was after midnight when Brennan finally walked slowly into her bedroom, crawling into her too empty bed and flipping off the lights.

Booth's at home, she told herself. He's at home, and he's fine. You'll see him in the morning.

Brennan closed her eyes, trying to recapture the logic that used to rule her.

She would fall asleep. She may have a nightmare, and she may wake up after a few hours to find herself alone. She may panic; she may even believe, for just a few seconds, that she was back to that month when Booth had been dead. But then he would come and pick her up for breakfast, and she would realize how irrational she'd been.

And maybe finally, _finally_, she could make her way back to somewhere normal.

But first she had to fall asleep.

At 1:45, her phone rang, and Brennan's chest constricted instantly, the old fear of The Phone Call choking her. This was where she had been when the first phone call had come, the one Angela had answered, just before everything came crashing down.

Hands trembling, she grabbed the phone, breathlessly answering, "Hello?"

"Bones?"

His voice, rich and warm, flowed over her, and Brennan's eyes filled instantly. Her voice tight, she could only manage, "Booth…"

"I was just calling to say goodnight," he informed her, pretending it wasn't a completely ridiculous time for a phone call.

"Oh," Brennan replied, hating how shaky her voice sounded. She closed her eyes, tightening the covers around her. "Alright."

"And, uh…I couldn't sleep." Booth waited, hearing only slightly ragged breathing over the line. "Can you sleep?"

"Not really," Brennan answered in a small voice.

"Glad it's not just me." Booth shifted the phone a little, waiting for Bones to speak. When she didn't, he sighed inwardly, then said, "Well, I'll, um…I'll let you go."

"Don't," she protested, too quickly. "I…not yet."

"Okay," Booth agreed softly. "I can stay on. As long as you need, alright?"

"Thank you," Brennan whispered.

Silence fell over the phone lines for a full minute before Brennan mumbled, her voice heavy with coming sleep, "Booth? Tell me something good."

He smiled against the mouthpiece, briefly. "Something good? Aaaaah…" Booth's voice faltered a little. "I miss you," he offered at last, laughing once, humorlessly. "That's not all that good, I know, but…that's what I've got. I miss you, Bones. I-I wish you were here. I need you, Bones, whatever you think…I need you as much as you need me."

Brennan pressed her palm against her lips, turning the mouthpiece of the phone away as sobs built in her chest. He shouldn't be doing this.

Booth listened for a moment, uncertain, than pushed forward about what he had been thinking about all evening, "Bones, the other night…you said something-"

Exhaling deeply, Brennan struggled to keep her voice steady as she replied, "I didn't mean…I never intended on quitting field work."

Booth saw what she was doing, and he wasn't going to let her. "I wasn't talking about that, Bones, I meant…the other thing."

She was wishing, suddenly, that he hadn't called. She couldn't do this.

"The thing is…Bones, I…I was giving you an out."

"An out?"

"You were upset, and I was pushing you and I wasn't…I wasn't sure how much you…meant…and I didn't want you to…I didn't want you to regret anything…" Booth trailed off, uncertain about how well he was articulating this.

There was a silence so long Booth was afraid Brennan had hung up, but then her voice, small but certain, came across, "What if I don't want an out?"

His heart skittered, his chest swelling. "Bones…"

"It…it's a fact, Booth. I know I've never given much credence to the notion of romantic love but…when you were dead, Angela helped me understand why I was…why it was so hard. And I realized…I'm in love with you. I'm so in love with you it nearly killed me, and I don't want an out. I said it because it's the truth, and you wanted me to tell you everything. I didn't have any expectations, but…I don't want an out."

Silence. Booth didn't reply for nearly a minute, and Brennan's stomach twisted, and suddenly she hated herself. But then Booth said, his voice, a couple of octaves higher than usual, unsteady, "Bones?"

Terrified, she answered, "Yes?"

"I…" He stopped, then started again, "I'm coming over. Just…just wait."

"But…" Then there was a click, and Brennan was left with the quiet, confused and strangely anxious.

She stood, pacing the apartment, for fifteen minutes. When Booth knocked on the door, Brennan was there in seconds, flinging it open.

Booth was standing there, in sweatpants and a white wifebeater, a jacket thrown over it, his cheeks flushed. And he was smiling widely at her.

Brennan stared up at him, self-conscious in only his T-shirt, wondering why she hadn't thought of changing. When he didn't say anything, Brennan ventured, "Hi."

His smile widened. "Hi. I love you."

Brennan's heart caught, and for a long moment she forgot to breathe. Booth just stood there, smiling goofily at her, and Brennan could feel her lips curving upward, heart thudding in her ears.

Booth stepped inside. "I'm going to kiss you now."

"Oka-" His lips covered hers before she could get a single syllable out, and Brennan had no arguments. He kissed her fiercely, tender and passionate all at once, and then his hands were everywhere, his body pressing against hers, and finally, Brennan lost her last grip on rationality, her mind going wondrously blank, thought replaced by incredible, glorious _feeling_.

~(B*B)~

Clothes discarded in the floor, they lay on top of the bed, their skin hot and exposed, pressed together in as many places as possible. Booth kissed his way across her body, tantalizingly slow. Her hands were tangled in his hair, and Brennan was already barely coherent.

"Booth," she gasped, "Now. Show me…"

Booth lifted his head, his eyes smoky with desire. "Wha…"

"Making love….show me…._now_…"

Booth moved, running his fingers the length of her body, until his face was hovering above hers. He lifted his hands, cradling her face in his hands as he stared down at her, drinking her in. "You're beautiful," he told her huskily. He leaned down, kissing her, hard. "So beautiful."

"I need you…" she murmured, and in a swift, forceful motion, Booth reached down, lifting her hips and sheathing himself in her.

Brennan gasped as he entered, _filling_ her. He felt perfect, like coming home. It was as though her understanding of emptiness had never been fully realized until now, until Booth truly took it away, and tears sprang from her eyes as she realized what she almost missed getting to have. "I love you," she gasped, her voice shattering as he moved deeper inside her, her name falling from his lips.

~(B*B)~

"You're shaking, Bones…" She was lying against his chest, Booth's arms wrapped around her.

Brennan shuffled back, tilting back to look at him, her eyes shining. "I can't lose you."

Booth leaned forward, kissing her gently. "You won't, Bones. I love you," he broke into an automatic smile. "Can't get enough of that."

Voice catching, Brennan said, "But what if…"

He silenced her with a kiss, slow and tender, then murmured against her mouth, "Temperance…" He pulled back, his forehead against hers. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. You don't have to worry about that." He kissed her again, his fingers moving gently between her legs, leisurely stroking. "This….you and me..this is it, alright?" Brennan moaned, low in the back of her throat, as his fingers stroked, his lips rounding against the line of her jaw. "Forever…"

Nearly an hour later, Brennan fell asleep in his arms, and for the first night since the shooting, she slept without nightmares.

~(B*B)~

They didn't make it to breakfast the next morning.

Brennan was only slightly late at the lab, though Booth came in with her, barely managing greetings to the others before falling Brennan into her office.

He emerged twenty minutes later, grinning inanely at the others, which sent Angela immediately into Brennan's office.

"Spill it, Sweetie."

Brennan couldn't keep the smile off her face long enough to feign confusion. "Mmmm?"

"What's going on with you two? And don't lie to me."

"He…" Brennan sat down at her desk chair, facing Angela. "He said he loved me."

Predictably, Angela instantly let out a high pitched squeal. "_Sweetie_! And?"

Never one to hide details, Brennan shrugged nonchalantly. "We had sex."

Another squeal. "You and Booth…oh my God, Sweetie, I…." Angela covered her face with her hands briefly, then beamed at Brennan. "I'm going to hug you."

"Ange…" It was a fruitless protest, as the artist walked behind Brennan's desk chair and hugged her awkwardly around it.

"I've never been prouder. Honestly." Eyes shining, Angela drew back to look at her. "Was it amazing? Was he fabulous?"

Brennan laughed a little, "Yes."

Angela actually clapped. "I knew he would be! Oh, Bren, I'm so, so happy for you two. It's about time, frankly. And didn't I tell you? Didn't I say something good would come out of everything that happened?" To Angela's horror, Brennan's eyes darkened, her smile fading. "What?"

Shaking her head a little, Brennan said, "Just…am I crazy?"

"Of course not. God, Sweetie, you're finally making sense."

"I wanted to put more distance between us, not less."

"Which was ridiculous…"

"But what if…objectively, it's counterproductive. I fell apart when he died, Ange, when he was only my partner and friend. Now that we may be…whatever this is…how am I supposed to handle it?" She met Angela's eyes imploringly. "He could still die, Ange. Nothing we do is going to change that."

"Any of us could die at any moment, Bren. That's why we _live_. You and Booth are finally living. Keeping yourself from him isn't going to keep him safe." She sighed. "Listen. You love him, right?"

"Yes," Brennan replied with a fervency that made Angela smile.

"And he loves you?"

"Yes." This time, Brennan's voice held a degree of wonderment that nearly broke Angela's heart.

"Of course he does. So you should be together. No regrets, no matter when the end comes. You'll have been together. And chances are, you'll have a very long time." Angela rolled her eyes. "Although it _should_ have started three years ago, if anyone ever listened to me…"

Brennan smiled to herself, tuning out her friends rant and remembering what Booth had repeated, several times last night.

_Forever._

She just wished she could know for sure that his forever would last a long, long time.

~(B*B)~

"I'm HOT BLOODED! Check it and see. Gotta a FEVER of a hundred and three…"

Booth was singing at the top of his lungs to the burned CD in his car. He'd been useless at work all morning, and probably ridiculous, grinning stupidly at everyone (even Cullen, who'd gotten nothing more than a snarl since Booth had gotten back from Seattle).

The strength of his happiness was almost frightening. He'd spent the morning dizzy and lightheaded, unable to focus. Every moment without Bones was seeming very much like a moment wasted. So he took an unnecessarily early lunch break so he could go see her.

It couldn't believe it had happened like this. Yesterday, he'd been devastated, sure she was pulling away again, after such a brief window of openness. He'd thought her moving back to her apartment would mean the return of normalcy, the world where Bones was just his partner, where he wasn't allowed to hold her hand or kiss her or hold her at night. The world where she hadn't said she loved him.

He hadn't been able to sleep. Half of it was worry for her, for her first night alone since he'd come back, and half of it was sheer disconcertion. What he'd said was true; he'd needed her there.

And, God, when she told him she hadn't wanted an out, even reiterated the fact that she loved him…he'd meant to tell her on the phone call, if he'd been able to work it in, but suddenly he'd had to see her. Had to look her in the eyes when he told her, so she'd see how much he meant it. So he thrown on clothes and driven to her apartment, and finally said it out loud, that essential fact that practically defined him.

Booth turned up the music, mind drifting back to the previous night, reliving every moment in detail.

In such detail, in fact, that Booth absently turned right on a red light, not noticing the car speeding through from his left until it slammed against the side of his car.

_A/N: Soooo….yes. This was kinda epic. And hopefully worth the wait. I hope you'll comment on everything, so I can know how you all liked everything…from the post-first kiss and Angela and Brennan's to Brennan's moving back, and of course the final confrontation and then the end cliffhanger. _

_There's one full chapter left in the story, plus a pretty important epilogue. And I'm dying to write the next parts, so hopefully the wait won't be as long. _

_You guys are amazing, seriously. I would send you all a personal Booth-gram but, sadly, I don't have even one Booth to give._

_Also, this one did stray into M rating a little bit, but I tried to only give the parts that are important to the story. I have no problem with smut, but that's just not what I'm doing with this story. So hopefully it worked, even if it was kind of minimal. _


	17. The Beauty and the Tragedy

_Author's Note: A fast update? What? Collective thud as readers keel over on their keyboards from shock. _

_As always, you guys are amazing. So glad you've enjoyed this crazy angsty emotional roller coaster so far…we're on our final spin, so to speak. This is the last full chapter. I have a test tomorrow morning, and it's 3 a.m., but I can't fight the muse, as half-eager I am to stretch this out. Plus, I started the epilogue in class today (I'm such a fantastic student) and am really, really driven to finish writing it._

_But I love this chapter. I hope it's a satisfactory conclusion. But I really hope you tune in for the epilogue, too. Because it's important, and it's been in my head since nearly the beginning. As has this chapter, actually. But I should have it up in a few days._

_Chapter Seventeen_

_The Beauty and the Tragedy_

_Another day, another sunrise  
Washing over everything  
In its time, love will be mine  
The beauty and the tragedy_

For I am finding out that _**love will kill and save me**__  
Taking the dreams that made me up  
And tearing them away  
But the same love will take this heart that's barely beating  
And fill it with hope beyond the stars  
Only love  
_

Angela stayed in Brennan's office the entire morning, pressing for details. Every time Brennan thought she had told everything there was to tell, Angela would come up with another question, something that seemed ridiculously specific, and they would be off again.

When she ran out of minute details to dissect, Angela began to gush about the future, phrases like _couples cruise_ and _godparents_ thrown around like it's the most normal thing in the world. Brennan didn't add much, but she didn't protest either. She didn't want to think about the future because it meant confronting how uncertain it was; but the picture Angela was painting wasn't exactly unappealing.

She used to not believe in long term monogamy, certain that you couldn't guarantee feeling the same way about a person for life. At some point, though, she had begun to recognize her feelings for Booth as the constant. It was whether or not he'd always be there that couldn't be guaranteed.

"So are you staying with him? Moving in, officially?"

"I don't know."

"Are you going to give up your apartment?"

"I don't-"

"Ooh, or you could get a new place together!"

Brennan laughed a little. "Angela, it's been less than a day. There's isn't been much discussion."

Angela smirked suggestively. "I bet there hasn't…"

"Ange!" Brennan rolled her eyes, grinning a little, as her phone rang, thankfully cutting off Angela's remarks. "Brennan," she answered briskly.

"Ms. Brennan, this is Tyra Davis at George Washington Hospital. We have you listed as the emergency contact for Seeley Booth, and he's just been brought in following a car accident-"

Her cell phone clattered to the desk, the battery snapping out of the casing as it hit the surface. Brennan's face drained of color, and she swayed slightly on her chair, the room tilting in front of her.

There was a pressure in her chest, compressing her lungs, trapping air. She couldn't breathe.

"Brennan, what-"

She rolled back in the chair, tried to stand, but her legs may as well have been liquid, and she collapsed instantly onto her knees, placing her in convenient proximity to the small trash can under her desk as she began to retch.

"Brennan!"

Stomach emptied, Brennan moaned, low and animalistic, her surroundings blurring before her eyes. She stayed crouched on the floor, bent over, gulping for air that wasn't coming.

_This isn't real._

"Bren!" Angela's voice was high pitched, frightened. "Brennan, _what happened_?"

Brennan shook her head. She couldn't say it; how could she say it, make it real? But then her face crumpled, and a violent, gulping sob ripped through her, followed by another, her frame shuddering spasmodically as she cried.

It was like her dream, the car crash one, the first nightmare she'd had where she reimagined his death. Latent images burned on the back of her eyes, fiery explosions and shattering glass, cars spinning off the road.

Angela's arms went around her, and that was worse, because it was like that first day all over again. The first day, after the phone call, on the floor of her apartment.

But then Angela released her, seizing her shoulders with uncharacteristic force. "_What_ _happened_? _Say_ something, Brennan, _tell me_."

Brennan shook her head. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be possible…surely nothing could hurt this much. She would wake up, any second, wake up in Booth's bed with his arms around her, another hysterical, unheeded nightmare…

Her vision was narrowing; she felt lightheaded and nauseous. She had to wake up.

Angela's grip tightened, nails digging into her skin. Tangible, physical pain.

"Car accident," she choked out, the truth, the acknowledgment of reality, wrenched out of her.

Angela didn't have to ask who. Her face paled, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, silently wishing this away, praying that this wasn't about to start all over again. "How bad?"

Brennan shook her head, words failing her. She lifted her head, eyes anguished. Angela shook herself, focusing on one task at a time. She touched her hand to Brennan's back, firmly rubbing circles, giving her something to focus on, trying to keep her voice firm, "You have to breathe, Bren. Slowly…in and out. There you go, that's it. In…and out." Brennan's sobs and gasps subsided, giving way slightly to quiet whimpers. "You don't know how bad it is. He could be fine. Now which hospital?"

Brennan uncovered her face and looked up, looking dazed and frighteningly disconnected. She gave no indication of hearing Angela.

"Is it George Washington?"

For a moment, nothing. Then she barely nodded.

"Okay," Angela said, trying to disguise the way her voice was shaking and inject some sort of authority into her tone. She put one of her hands in Brennan's, and used the other to gently guide Brennan up until she was standing. Brennan gripped her arm, and Angela could feel her trembling violently. Angela's stomach churned in fear, but she began to walk slowly toward the door of Brennan's office. "We're going to go. We're going to go find out if he's okay."

Angela had the distinct feeling that Brennan wasn't really _with_ her as she walked her out into the lab, seemingly stunned. Angela glanced at the forensics platform, where Zack and Hodgins were working at their separate stations. "Jack," she called.

Hodgins turned, his eyebrows shooting upward when he saw the two women. He hurried forward, leaving Zack blinking confusedly at them.

"What-"

"We need a ride to the hospital."

~(B*B)~

"Where is he?"

Angela had a tight hold on her best friend's arm, which was still trembling even after the fifteen minute drive to the hospital. They had just walked into the ER, and Brennan's eyes were darting around wildly. The question, desperate, was the first time she'd spoke since they'd left the lab.

"We're going to ask, Sweetie."

Hodgins was parking the car, and the two women walked through the relatively calm Emergency Room to the desk. Brennan's stomach lurched unpleasantly, as it hit her for the first time that this was the same hospital, the same ER where she'd stumbled in minutes behind the ambulance, his blood covering her hands.

Angela waited for a second, half-expecting Brennan to start speaking, but when she didn't, Angela said smoothly, "Excuse me, we're looking for a patient. Seeley Booth, he was brought in after a car accident?"

"One moment…" The woman typed something into her computer, as Brennan's knuckles went white on the desk in front of her. "I don't have a patient with that name…"

Angela closed her eyes, waiting for a panic attack, but suddenly, something manic glinted in Brennan's eyes.

"I got a call," Brennan said harshly. "I'm his emergency contact, they _said_ he was here."

The woman shrugged. "It's possible his paperwork admitting him hasn't been processed yet…"

Brennan's heart clutched, waves of pain reverberating through her as she thought of another option. What if he hadn't been admitted because he'd been brought in to be declared? What if he wasn't a patient…if the woman was looking in the wrong place.

Swallowing the terror threatening to bring her to her knees, Brennan demanded, "_Find_ him. They called me, they said he was here. _Tell me where he is."_

The woman arched an eyebrow at her, then nodded. "I'll see what I can find out. You two have a seat."

She disappeared, and Brennan took a few steps back, sucking in a rattling breath as tears stung her eyes again, spilling over and tracking down her cheeks.

_Please, Booth, please be alright, please Booth, you promised, you said I wouldn't lose you, please, please be okay. _It was fitting, she supposed, that she was essentially praying to Booth; he was the only thing she'd ever let herself have faith in.

Angela tentatively touched her arm, and Brennan pulled back, raking her hands through her hair, starting to murmur, "I, I can't…I have to go, I can't do this, I can't…"

Leaning closer so she could make out what she was saying, Angela asked tentatively, "Sweetie?"

Her voice growing louder, almost hysterical, she repeated, "I have to leave, I can't be here, I can't do this again, I can't, I have to go-"

Desperately trying to be the voice of reason, Angela stated quietly, "Go where, Bren?"

Her voice thick, Brennan stammered, "I, I, I don't know…I don't know, somewhere…somewhere _else_…to my brother's, to, to Guatemala, I don't…I just can't, I can't be here…"

"You don't need to go to Guatemala," Angela soothed, as though this was a completely reasonable suggestion.

Brennan shook her head hard, face crumpling. She sank down into a chair, and Angela sunk down next to her. "I have to go somewhere, Ange…"

Wrapping a secure arm around her, Angela began to stroke her hair comfortingly. "You don't. It's going to be okay."

"Th-they're going to, they're gonna come back and tell me he's," Brennan shook her head, sobbing hard now. "They're going to tell me he's dead, and I can't, Angela, I can't go to his funeral, I can't hear them tell me…I can't, I have to go…"

But Brennan didn't make a move. She bent her head low, eyes screwed shut. "He promised…"

Tears filled Angela's eyes. "I know."

"We haven't even had a f-full day…he can't be…"

"I know, Sweetie."

Another minute crawled by. Jack came in and joined them in the silent waiting. Another minute passed. Brennan continued her silent pleas, _Be okay. Be okay, Booth, please, be alright, you said forever, you have to prove it…_

"Bones?"

Brennan's head snapped up, and her eyes zeroed in on him, standing twenty feet away, on the other side of the desk.

For a moment, the world stopped turning, and she could only stare. There was a small, stitched cut on his forehead, and his left hand was in a brace. But he was _there_. He was alive.

Brennan was standing, then running, her shoes pounding on the tile floor.

She slammed into him and Booth's arms went automatically around her, and she was sobbing his name over and over, muffled against his chest as she clung to him.

"Bones…." Bewildered, Booth tightened her in his embrace. "I'm okay. Everything's okay…" He pressed his lips to her hair. "Baby, what did they tell you…?"

Booth held her for minutes, maybe more, rocking her slightly back and forth, soothing, as Brennan continued to cry, both oblivious to the fact that they were in the middle of an ER.

The woman behind the desk returned, took one look at them, and smiled at Angela. "I guess she found him?"

"Thanks," Angela said. She and Jack moved toward the door, leaving the two of them in privacy..

After a long time, Brennan drew back, and Booth cradled her face in his hands, staring intently into her red-rimmed eyes. Tenderly, Booth brushed her tears away. "Hey, now…what'd I tell you?," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

She shook her head, her face tightening as she struggled to regain control. Then her lips were crashing into his, kissing fiercely, but after just a few moments she pulled back, sobs threatening to overwhelm her again.

Booth's fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her close. "Hey, sssh…don't cry. Everything's okay."

"I, I…I thought…I thought you were…"

"Just a bump up, Bones," he told her soothingly. "I was being an idiot. But nothing's going to happen to me."

Brennan's lips were trembling, and she pressed them tightly together, closing her eyes, trying to work up to what she had to say.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't live waiting for the moment when every bit of happiness they managed would fall away. She couldn't lose him again.

Voice quivering, she started, "Booth…"

He kissed her softly, brushing back a strand of her hair that had stuck to her damp cheek. "Yeah?"

Brennan opened her eyes, finding Booth's boring into her, warm and chocolate and so loving they stole her breath. Her words caught in her throat, and Booth gently prodded, "Bones?"

"Marry me."

Booth froze, blinking at her. "Wh-what?"

Brennan swallowed, her heart throbbing. The words had tumbled out of nowhere, surprising Brennan herself.

A tiny part of her panicked, wanting to take it back; that was the part that still believed marriage was an antiquated ritual, the part that didn't trust forever. But the bigger part of her knew that _forever_, even if it was nearly impossible to believe in, was everything she wanted with Booth.

"I love you," she whispered thickly. "I…I think I'd like to…marry you."

Booth's mouth was rounded in a perfect O. "Bones, you…you don't believe in…"

"I didn't," she said, her voice cracking. "But I…changed…. _everything_ changed, and I want…you, _you_ said forever…"

"I know, I did and I meant it, but, Bones…" He laughed a little, in shock. Then he kissed her deeply.

But he pulled back, Brennan pointed out breathlessly, "You didn't answer."

Booth laughed again, completely overwhelmed. "You didn't really ask a question, Bones. It was basically an order." He smiled, gently, kissing her again. "You can't just ask me to marry you, Bones, you're supposed to let _me_ ask…."

Up to that point, Brennan could barely process what she was saying, much less figure out how she felt about it. But as soon as he said that, when she understood he was agreeing, she broke into a smile, warmth flooding her, a fresh wave of tears filling her eyes for an entirely different reason. "Sexist tradition," she murmured against his mouth.

Booth kissed her, feather light, his words falling on her lips, "Still…" He wrapped an arm around her. "Let's go home."

"Can we stop at my apartment first?" she asked.

In the next hour, they moved her still unpacked bags back to Booth's apartment.

~(B*B)~

"Bones…" Booth murmured against her skin, kissing her bare shoulder, their legs tangled together in the middle of the bed. "About earlier, at the hospital…"

Brennan tilted her head down to look at him, expression suddenly nervous. "You aren't giving me another out, are you?"

Booth smiled instantly, relaxing her. "No way. No changies, remember? You're not getting out of this one." The smile faded and he gazed at her seriously, "But I do want to make sure you're sure, Bones. Because I'm gonna propose-"

"Booth, I already-"

He pressed a finger to her lips, "If we're doing this, you are going to let me do it right. Sexist antiquated ritual it may be, I'm getting a ring, I'm going to propose. But if I'm going to ask….Bones…I want to know that you want this. I love you, and I want to be with you forever, but…you never…I…you were panicked today, and I just…"

"I know." she cut him off quietly. "It's strange, I know but today…when I was in the waiting room, I thought…I thought you were dead…"

Booth nodded, his nose brushing against hers as he leaned closer.

Brennan felt tears threatening to fill her eyes as she confessed in an almost timid voice, "I…wanted to run. I'm sorry, Booth, but I was afraid…"

"Ssssh.." He kissed her sweetly, cutting off the apologies. "It's okay."

Sniffling, Brennan continued, "I didn't think I could do it again, watch you…I couldn't keep waiting for everything to fall apart. I wanted to run before I found out, before it started again…"

Booth curled a finger just under her eye, catching a tear before it could fall. "But you didn't."

She shook her head. "I can't lose you," she repeated. "Not even…by choice."

Booth nodded, smiling slightly, leaning down to kiss her neck, slow and gently.

Eyes drifting shut, she continued, "I want to believe in the things that you believe in, Booth. I _want_ to believe in marriage and family and forever. I want to believe in…in good things." She smiled shakily. "I already believe in love. You gave me that."

Booth swallowed hard, his throat constricting. He managed, "Good thing…"

Brennan's fingers traced softly over Booth's torso, coming to rest on his chest, just above his heart. "I don't want you to die."

"I won't."

Eyebrows drawing together, Brennan shook her head. "You can't know that. But I've realized…if that happens, there's nothing I can do to make it easier. I can't leave you. I can't compartmentalize, not when it comes to you. If you die…" Brennan drew an uneven breath. "…it will kill me. I can't change that, believing I can was foolish and irrational. But…but Angela says…the only thing I can do is live while we have a chance, make the most of it." She paused. "I don't want to waste any more time not being with you."

"You don't ever have to worry about that," Booth murmured, pulling her close and kissing her deeply.

~(B*B)~

Booth woke up to find the space next to him empty, light streaming in from the cracked bathroom door. He could pick up the soft sound of the water running, and Booth stood and walked in to find Brennan in front of the sink, splashing cold water on her face.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, hooking his chin over her shoulder. "You okay?"

He felt her relax against him, eyes drifting shut. "I tried not to wake you."

"I don't mind," Booth replied, his voice groggy. "What happened?"

She didn't answer for a moment, then she told him flatly, "Your funeral."

Booth waited, not speaking, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"I think…it was different, I think it was after the car accident…I saw your coffin, like before."

Booth nodded, gently turning her so they were facing each other and pulling Brennan into a hug. "No funerals. No coffins, no graves. Not for a long time."

She tilted her head to look up at him. "I went to the cemetery. My father said it would…cathartic."

"Was it?"

"No." She paused. "But I thought it was something _you_ would find…respectful or honorable. So before I went to Seattle I went back for several hours."

"Did you talk?"

She made a face. "I attempted it, at first, but I felt foolish knowing you couldn't hear me."

He smiled a little. "Sound about right." He moved back from the hug, lacing their fingers together as he did so. "Think you can sleep?"

"Yes," Brennan said resolutely.

They lay close together in the center of the bed, Booth's arm wrapped around Brennan. A smile in his voice, he whispered against her ear, "Need me to tell you something good?"

"Mmm-hmmm," she muttered in affirmation.

"There's going to be a wedding." His tone took on an almost awed quality. "You're going to be my wife." Brennan smiled. Then, his tone teasing, Booth said, "Mrs. Booth…"

"I don't agree with the archaic notion that the woman should give up her own identity. It suggests a false superiority of the male."

Booth laughed. "I'm not surprised."

"Is that okay?"

"Whatever you want, Bones." He smiled. "Anything."

~(B*B)~

"I'm going to tell Angela."

Booth stopped walking and looked at her impatiently; they were walking hand in hand to the forensics platform. The next morning. "_Bones_. You can't."

She regarded him mildly. "Why not? I assume you want a ceremony, and Angela would be the obvious choice for my maid of honor I'm going to have to tell her at some point."

He faced her, giving her a mock-pleading look. "Not until I propose. Make it official."

She sighed, exasperated, "Booth, I don't understand why I have to give in to your alpha male need to control the relationship. It isn't official when I ask?"

He bit back a grin; even arguing about this marriage made his heart skitter in his chest. It still felt a little surreal. "No, it's not." Then he did smile, smugly. "No ring."

"The fact that an engagement ring is worn only be the female is an outdated manifestation of the alpha male need to indicate possession of the female…"

Booth shrugged innocently. "Want me to wear a ring, too? A big diamond? Or, like, a necklace that says, 'Property of Bones'?" Brennan was grinning in spite of herself. "I could, I don't mind. I could rock some bling."

"I don't know what that means."

He charm smiled at her, leaning in to kiss her. "I know you don't…"

"Hey, _partners_, get a room."

They pulled apart to see Angela and Hodgins, walking in behind them , both smirking. Brennan flushed, but Booth just smiled. "Good morning."

Angela beamed at Brennan, then said teasingly, "How's it going, Sweetie?"

Brennan met Booth's eyes challengingly, but then she simply said, "It's good."

Nodding in approval, Booth leaned in and kissed her again, "I gotta go. But I'm going to come by at noon to pick you up….I gotta take you somewhere."

"Yes, I know, lunch," she said as if it was obvious.

"After. Somewhere else first."

~(B*B)~

"Is this some sort of proposal arrangement?" Brennan asked brazenly, after they had driven for a good ten minutes without Booth telling her where they were going. "Are you taking me to some elaborate location to conduct your ritual?"

Booth groaned. "First of all, could you stop calling it a ritual? It's going to blow your mind, when I do. Which isn't right now, but if I _was_ taking you somewhere, why would you _ask_ and ruin it? Geez, Bones."

"I don't see how it would ruin it, if I know and you know, what would me pointing it out-"

"Never mind, Bones. It's not a proposal set up. It's something else."

"Fine." She was quiet until he turned on a street and Brennan realized where they were going. Her eyes widened immediately, as she protested, voice tight, "Booth, what are you doing? I don't want to…"

He lifted a hand off the wheel and reached across the take hers. "Bones, it's okay. Trust me."

"I don't want to _be_ here, Booth…" she asserted shakily as they turned in.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Trust me. I wanna show you something."

He drove slowly through the narrow road into the cemetery, glancing over and noticing Brennan's eyes were shut, her face muscles tight. He absently rubbed his thumb back and forth over her hand, steering with one hand until he pulled to a stop.

"Come on," he told her encouragingly. "It's okay."

Brennan didn't move from the car until Booth came around and opened her door, turning coaxing eyes on her. "You trust me?"

Gritting her teeth, expression stubborn, Brennan shot back, "It's not about trust, Booth, I just don't see the benefit…"

He took her hand and tugged lightly until Brennan reluctantly got out of the car and followed him through the grass.

After a short walk, he stopped, gesturing at the ground in front of him, a dark patch of dirt, newly turned. "Look, Bones. There's nothing there." he told her quietly.

They were standing where his headstone had been, where they'd had his funeral, where she'd watched his coffin go into the ground, where the last thread of her control had severed.

Her throat so tight it ached, Brennan had to struggle to manage a normal tone when she said, "I wouldn't imagine they'd have to keep an inauthentic headstone here after the ruse was over."

Booth touched her face, making her look at him, expression serious. "The point is, Bones, that I don't want you thinking of coffins or headstones at all. If you have to think about this place, remember how it is right now. No grave. I think they dug up the coffin, which was a cheap thing with a dummy in it anyway. This right here," he waved a hand vaguely at the patch of grass. "This place has nothing to do with me."

Brennan was quiet, her eyes zeroed in on the place where the headstone had been, for a long moment, then asked carefully, "So you brought me here because last night I dreamt your funeral?"

"I thought maybe I could get rid of at least one nightmare. Replace it with something easy, you know?" He gave her a sheepish half-smile. "Probably stupid."

"Not stupid," she countered softly, turning to face him, absently playing with his tie. "Thank you."

"One thing at a time, right?" Booth offered with a smile, kissing her lightly. When he drew back, Brennan started to say something else, when Booth's phone rang, cutting them off.

"Booth." He paused. "Sure." Another pause, then, "On our way." He grinned at Brennan as he hung up the phone. "We got a case."

Brennan nodded slightly, not looking thrilled.

Booth slung an arm around her shoulder as they walked back to the car. "It's going to be fine, Bones. We're back." He smiled, "And better than ever, which says a lot."

"That's true," she agreed, smiling a little in spite of herself. The smile fading, she regarded him seriously, "Could you not be nice to any suspects?"

For a moment, Booth blinked at her, confused, then remembered Pam Nunan. He gave Brennan an affectionate smile. "Sure, Bones. I'll be a hardass. How's that?"

She nodded, "That would be satisfactory."

"That's my girl."

~(B*B)~

The next afternoon, while Bones was doing one of her marathon sessions of staring at remains, Booth left the lab under the pretense of getting a warrant for phone records that he'd called about hours before.

He felt guilty leaving; Bones had been on edge all morning, trying unsuccessfully to disguise it.

But he felt it was a pretty good reason.

He was standing in front of a display case at a jewelry store, meticulously studying engagement rings. He'd been pacing the long rows of display cases for nearly forty minutes, the smiling woman behind the counter came up to ask if he needed help choosing.

"No, thanks," Booth replied, smiling. "I'll know it when I see it."

For the past two nights, he'd lay awake for hours, trying to come up with the perfect way to propose. To propose to _Bones_, which made all the difference.

Nothing too traditional. _Bones_ wasn't traditional, and nothing about this had been traditional. He kind of loved her for that, and you would think that the fact that he already knew her answer would take the pressure off.

But Booth wanted this to be amazing. He wanted to make Bones glad that he was following the alpha male ritual, or whatever she called it.

He'd been going over the past three years in his head, every moment they'd had together, every time he'd fallen a little more in love with her. But, as cheesy as it sounded, there were far too many. He couldn't figure out how to encompass everything they'd been through together, and every reason he couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life with her into one moment.

His phone rang, and Booth reached into his pocket, smiling instantly at the name on the screen. "Hey, babe."

There was a momentary silence, and Booth grinned, correctly guessing the endearment (that he couldn't believe he was getting away with) had thrown her off, because in the next second Brennan said in a slightly flustered voice, "Booth? I found cause of death. She was held down and smothered. There are multiple defense wounds. Hodgins is trying to determine a location."

"Okay, we should, uh, question the husband again, confront him with the information, gauge a reaction…I don't like that he waited a week to report her missing, I don't buy the spontaneous trip excuse-"

"Alright, great, so you're…you're coming back? Because you have my car…"

Voice softening, Booth told her, "Yeah, Bones, I'll be there soon. I'll pick you up in a few and we'll bring the husband in, alright?"

"Okay. Because you've been gone for an hour…"

"I know. I got sidetracked at the office. But it won't be long."

"Alright. Bye."

"Bye, Bones. I love you."

He could hear her trying not to smile. "Booth, I'm _working_-"

A ring caught his eye, and Booth smiled instantly, bending down to study it. "So who's with you? Cam, Zack? Hodgins? I still love you, even when you're pouring over skeletons with the squint squad."

"Just hurry back, Booth."

He grinned. He could practically _hear_ her blushing. "You got it. _Babe._"

Hanging up the phone and replacing it in his pocket, Booth waved to get the saleswoman's attention. "Excuse me…could I take a look at that one, please?"

She smiled and pulled the ring out. "Excellent choice."

Booth took the ring gently between his thumb and ring finger, studying it. It was platinum, a three stone setting, the middle stone neither miniscule or ostentatious. And he knew, immediately, that he wanted to give it to Bones.

"I'll take it."

~(B*B)~

Angela had come into her office at the beginning of Brennan's phone call, and had been standing there with a knowing expression for the past minute or so.

When she hung up, Brennan immediately adopted a professional look. "What have you got?"

"Give me the variables and I can run some scenarios for you." Without missing a beat, Angela changed the subject and said teasingly, "Missing Booth already?"

Defensively, Brennan replied, "No, I'd just like to move on with the investigative side of things and he's been gone for an hour."

"And you _just_ stopped staring at the disgusting human remains," Angela pointed out, smirking. "You're having early relationship separation anxiety. It's really cute."

Brennan sighed, "It isn't _cute_, Angela, and it's not…I don't _miss _him." She made a face. "I feel sick every time the phone rings. It's like…I can't breathe for a few seconds."

The joking smile faded from Angela's face. "Oh." She paused, searching for the right thing to say. "He was fine, Bren. He's got a brace on his wrist and a couple stitches, and for Booth that's nothing. It wasn't bad."

"But it could've been," she insisted. "The other day, we went to see the damage on his car it…it was _crushed_, Angela. I don't understand how he made it out with such minimal injuries."

"But he did. I told you, he's a survivor."

Brennan was quiet for a moment, staring at the cell phone in her hand. Then she said softly, "He was driving from the Hoover to the lab. That's, what? A five minute trip? That's how fast it changed, Angela."

Angela glanced at her, her expression concerned. "Brennan, you aren't thinking of running, are you? Pulling away from him? Because you may reason it to death and decide that's the most logical thing, but you love that man and not being with him _will_ make you miserable, not to mention Booth-"

"Ange," Brennan cut her off. "I'm not running." Brennan thought of the proposal that she knew was coming, and in spite of how ridiculous she found the formality, she had to hide a smile. "I promise. I don't know how to…not be with Booth. And logically, even if it's my own decision to walk away, the absence will be just as painful." She drew a breath, resolute. "I'm not running. Not anymore."

Angela smiled, "Good for you."

~(B*B)~

Two days later, on a Friday they solved the case; their first one in months. It was Booth's weekend with Parker, and after they finished the paperwork, Booth and Brennan picked the boy up from Rebecca's and the three of them went to the diner, to celebrate with a late dinner.

Booth had a warm, pleasant glow spreading throughout the dinner. He almost couldn't believe how amazing he had it. He and Bones were back to doing what they did best, but now he got to go home with her at the end of the day. She and Parker had developed an easy, affectionate relationship that was beyond what he could have hoped for.

By the time they finished their desert, it was dark out and raining steadily. Seeing it, Parker gave a whoop of delight and jumped into a puddle by the curb, splashing water in all directions. Before Booth could reprimand him, Parker yelled dramatically, "Make a run for it, Dad!" He ducked from under the protective awning and started to run across the street to where their car was parked.

Booth started to yell out, but Brennan beat him to it, "Parker, don't go into the street by yourself," she admonished, reaching out and taking his hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Brennan threw Booth a smile over her shoulder as she and Parker walked, hand in hand, across the road. Booth managed a clumsy one in return. The scene in front of him, simplistic as it was, had nearly stolen his breath, made his heart swell.

He followed them slowly across the deserted street, stopping in the center to watch, almost wonderingly, as Brennan opened up the backseat door of her car and lifted him into the car seat he still didn't weigh enough to give up, the one they'd moved into her car earlier in the day.

After she buckled him in, Parker said something Booth couldn't make out, and Brennan laughed, offering him a high five, which he son, grinning, returned. Closing the backseat door, Brennan opened the front passenger side one, but stopped and gave him a puzzled look instead of getting in.

"Why are you standing in the middle of the street?

Booth swallowed against the unexplained lump in his throat, unable to do anything but look at her, that lopsided grin in place on his face.

"You aren't setting a very good example for Parker," Brennan admonished bluntly, and it was such a typical Bones statement Booth nearly laughed.

Still, he could only stare at her, completely in awe of the fact that _Bones_ wanted to be his wife. That Temperance Brennan, his partner and best friend, this gorgeous genius who guarded her heart so carefully, who relied on science and logic and chemicals….this woman wanted to marry him. To be his wife. Forever.

The rain was falling around them, glittering against the old fashioned lights on the streets that were casting a golden hue in the blackness. Brennan's hair was growing damp, droplets clinging and sparkling on her skin as she stared at him in confusion, casting frequent looks back through the window to check on his son.

Booth had never seen anything more beautiful.

"Booth? Get in, we're getting soaked."

He took a few long strides until he was standing in front of her, rather than going around to the drivers side as she expected. He stood there, inches away, grinning down at her.

Brennan looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "What are you-"

Before she could finish, Booth, reaching into the inside pocket of his coat and closing shaking fingers around the box he'd been carrying around for two days, bent down on one knee, instantly soaking his jeans on the damp street.

Brennan's baffled look melded instantly into one of utter astonishment, her heart hitching, and she could only stare, wide-eyed, down at him.

"Temperance," he began, then smiled. "Bones. I'm in love with you. You're my best friend, you're my family, and I love you. I can't think of _anything_ better than spending the rest of my life with you. So, Bones, I'm asking…will you marry me?"

"Daddy? Bones?" Parker's voice floated from the car. "Are you _coming_?"

"Just, a sec, bud," Booth answered, not taking his eyes off Bones.

It was hard to tell, in the rain and the half-darkness of the street, but he was pretty sure Bones' eyes were shining. Her voice trembling, she asked weakly, "Were…were you planning….the whole time?"

Booth smile, readily admitting, "No. But…I couldn't wait. And this is where we were standing a year and a half ago when I told you there was more than one kind of family. And I was looking at you, and Parker and just…you're all the family I need." His grin widened. "Was that too corny? I think it was too corny."

Bones shook her head, vehemently. "Not at all. And I love you, too." Her voice broke, but she was smiling. "And that was…much more than satisfactory. As proposal rituals go."

Booth laughed, a giddiness filling him. Leave it to Bones to be unable to merely answer a proposal like a normal person. "You think you may get around to answering tonight?"

Brennan laughed. There was a catch in her voice as she replied, "You know my answer."

"Tell me anyway."

"Dad!" Parker called impatiently.

"Just a sec!" He grinned at Brennan. "Don't keep me begging here all night, Bones."

Her smile stretched even further. "_Yes_. Alright? Yes, I'll marry you." Booth's heart was racing, and he laughed again as he gently slid the ring onto her finger. Bones added, "Though I'd like to remind you that I asked _you_ first-"

Booth stood up and pulled her to him, silencing her with fervent kiss, the rain falling around them, clinging, his hands tangled in her wet hair. Time ceased to exist. The rest of the world melted away. Until…

"EW! _Gross_!"

Booth pulled away reluctantly, and they both turned. Through the open passenger side door, he could see his son's face, screwed up in distaste, watching them.

"Can we _go_ now?" Parker demanded.

Booth nodded. "Yeah, pal, we can go. Sorry." He turned back to look at Bones, his inane grin matching hers, and suddenly they both started to laugh.

Booth leaned his forehead against hers. "I love you. So much."

"You, too," Brennan said softly. She looked down at the ring on her finger. "It's really beautiful, Booth."

"Even if it is a symbol of the alpha male need to show possession?," he teased.

"Even then."

~(B*B)~

"I have a favor to ask."

"Anything, Sweetie."

"It's a somewhat big favor. I don't know much about this sort of thing, so I'll need your assistance with most facets of the planning…."

"Bren, what are you talking about?"

"The favor I was going to ask you. I thought that was obvious."

"What isn't obvious is what the favor _is_, Sweetie."

"Well of course it isn't. I haven't explicitly asked yet."

"Just _ask_, Brennan."

"Will you be my maid of honor?"

….

"_What?"_

Brennan removed her left hand from her pocket, unable to contain her smile as she held it up. "For my wedding?"

"You…you and Booth are…you're _getting married_?"

"Yes. So will you? Because you're my best friend, Angela, and you've really been there for me the past few months, so it would mean a lot to me if you would do it." She paused. "So…will you?"

In two steps Angela was hugging her, and then she was crying which, inexplicably, made Brennan start to cry. Angela pulled back to look at her best friend, and they both burst out laughing, the tears still falling. Then Angela hugged her again.

"I am so, so happy for you, Sweetie," Angela whispered. "No one deserves this more than you. And you know I'll do anything I can to help, just name it."

"Thank you," Brennan said, giving her a watery smile as she drew back. "Ange?"

"Yeah, Sweetie?"

"This wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for you." She smiled almost shyly. "I just wanted you to know that."

Angela sniffled. "Thanks, Bren. I'm just glad you're happy. Both of you." She wiped her eyes, then rubbed her hands together. "Now let's talk about the wedding."

~(B*B)~

It was one thirty in the morning when Brennan gave up on sleeping.

She stood abruptly and left the room, purposeful. She supposed, deep down, much as she tried to fight it, she'd known she would end up here.

After walking several corridors, she stopped outside a door and rapped her knuckles against it. "Booth?" For a moment, she heard only silence. She rapped louder, raising her voice above the stage whisper. "Booth?"

She heard the creak of a mattress, and then the soft padding of footsteps. The door swung open and Booth was standing in front of her, in only his boxers, his hair standing on one end, and his right hand clasped firmly over his eyes. "Bones?" he hissed, his voice scratchy with sleep.

Brennan frowned up at her fiancée. "Why are you covering your eyes?"

"It's after midnight. It's officially wedding day. I'm not allowed to see you."

Rolling her eyes, Brennan countered, "That's ridiculous. Temporary visual impairment will have no bearing on marital success. There's no correlation, or any logical reasoning, for that matter."

Booth shrugged, his eyes still covered. "Those are the rules, Bones."

Pushing past him into the bedroom, Brennan informed him, "I don't believe in nonsensical superstitions."

Grinning, Booth uncovered his eyes and closed the door behind her. "Angela's going to be pretty pissed at you tomorrow if she finds out."

Brennan shrugged, unbothered, as she crawled into the bed. "If she gets upset, I'll simply put on the wedding dress. Past experience has proven she has difficulty maintaining negative emotions in the presence of my dress, though I have no idea where the connection is."

Booth laughed, flicking off the lamp and crawling in next to her, nestling close to her in the middle of the bed. "You missed my point earlier. It's after midnight."

"And?"

"_And_ happy wedding day." He kissed her gently.

Brennan smiled sweetly. "You, too."

Booth reached out automatically, stroking his fiancee's hair absently. "You have a nightmare?"

In the darkness, he could see Bones shake her head. "I haven't been to sleep yet."

"Yeah, I had some trouble with that, too." Booth acknowledged softly. It would have been the first time since Seattle, almost five months ago, that the two of them would have spent a whole night apart.

"I can sleep now, though." she assured him.

Booth smiled, inching closer and wrapping an arm around Brennan as always, pulling her close. "So can I."

~(B*B)~

"Wake up, Sweetie!!! It's wedding day! Rise and…" Angela flung open the door to the guest room and stopped talking abruptly. The bed was empty.

For a moment, worst case scenarios raced through her mind, and she was certain Brennan had panicked and bolted in the night.

Then, the far more likely scenario occurred to her, and Angela sighed. Honestly, she should have seen this coming from the moment she brought up the separate bedrooms.

Walking swiftly down the hall, Angela cracked open the door to yet another one of the multiple guest rooms in Hodgins manor, her suspicions confirmed.

_Those two_…she thought, not sure whether she was touched or exasperated.

Booth and Brennan were tangled together in the middle of the bed, Booths' arm wrapped securely around her waist, so close that every time he exhaled Brennan's hair fluttered.

Angela moved purposely to the side of the bed, grabbing a pillow that had fallen on the floor and extracting the pillow case, which she promptly wrapped around Booth's head.

He woke up in relative darkness. "What the-"

"Good morning," Angela said cheerfully. "Happy wedding day to both of you. It's nice to see you can't follow a simple instruction."

Brennan, awake now, rolled over and blinked blearily at her. "What are you doing?"

Seizing the bunched end of the pillow case in one fist, Angela pointed at the door with her free hand. "You. Go. Meet me in my room. You'll see him later. At the _wedding_."

"I came in after midnight, Angela, so technically Booth's already seen me tod-"

"We'll salvage what we can. Surely you can go six or seven hours."

Brennan heard the challenging note in Angela's voice, and retorted defiantly, "Of course we can. I'm going."

~(B*B)~

The wedding was held on the grounds of Hodgins estate, out near the gardens. It was a small, simple ceremony, their families and closest friends in attendance on the gorgeous lawn.

Brennan wore a simple, but gorgeous, wedding dress; her hair was loose in soft curls around her shoulders. The weather was perfect, sunlit and warm.

Parker and Haley, Russ' youngest stepdaughter, made their way up the aisle first. Then Jared and Cam; then Angela and Hodgins. Then, Max Keenan looped his arm through his daughter's, kissed her cheek, and began to walk Brennan down the aisle.

Brennan had told herself so many times over the past few months that the ceremonial aspect of the marriage was unimportant to her. She told herself she was doing it because it was important to Booth, that she didn't see the significance of a service to begin the marriage.

Which left her completely unprepared for the fact that, when she caught a glimpse of Booth's face, smiling brilliantly at her from under the white arch, her eyes filled instantly with tears, the air whooshing from her lungs.

It turned out it mattered to her, too.

Brennan hadn't argued with Booth's request for his priest to perform the ceremony, nor did she object to the traditional Catholic vows. But they wrote their own, as well, short and simple, a weight behind the words that only they understood.

Booth promised forever. Through that, he was vowing to always be there, to never leave her if he had any sort of choice. He promised to be a constant. To never make her doubt him.

Brennan promised faith. She was vowing to trust him, to rely on her heart rather than her brain. She meant she would never run.

And both of them promised love.

~(B*B)~

"_Dr. Brennan? We have some news about your husband, Seeley Booth."_

_Her lungs freeze. Everything slows down, and Brennan isn't sure how she manages to answer. "What is it?"_

"_There was an accident."_

"_No." Pure denial. She won't believe it._

" _I'm very sorry, ma'am, but your husband…he didn't make it."_

"_No." Tears arrow on the back of her eyelids, like small, hot darts, surging forward. She won't let them fall. Won't give in to this._

"_He was found dead on the scene."_

"_No. No, there's been a mistake."_

"_I'm very sorry." The officer hands her a Ziploc bag, with his name on a label. So clinical and professional. Like an evidence bag she uses. Not like all she has left of her husband. "These are his things we recovered."_

_His wallet. Keys. _

_Wedding ring._

"_No, no, no…"_

"_Very sorry." The officer leaves._

_The tears she's been fighting are pulsing in her eyes, painful and hot. They begin to slip, falling harder and faster until it feels as though she is crying blood rather than tears._

She wass sobbing in her sleep when he shook her awake at just after five in the morning. The nightmares, lately, had become less frequent, and even less distressing. More often than not, she would wake up merely disoriented and shaky, the details more hazy than they had been at the beginning.

Tonight, though, Brennan clung immediately to Booth when he woke her up, her sobs redoubling instead of subsiding.

Booth held her, tightly, kissing her forehead, her hair, her salty wet cheeks, anywhere he could comfort. "Ssh, Bones, it's okay. Everything's okay, I'm right here. I've gotcha, baby, you're alright…"

They were in the honeymoon suite at a local hotel, their wedding night; they're supposed to leave for Greece later in the afternoon for the honeymoon.

Brennan's desperate, plaintive sobs slowly dwindle to quiet, halting whimpers, and eventually she quiets entirely, and mumbles hoarsely against his chest, "I'm sorry."

Booth kissed her tenderly. "Don't be sorry, Bones." His tone light, he added, "I knew I shouldn't have let you sleep at all on our wedding night. Unnatural."

She managed a tremulous smile. "Well, we came pretty close." It was true they had fallen asleep barely an hour ago.

Booth gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "Want to talk about it?"

"It was the same as always," Brennan told him in a small voice. "I don't understand why it was…worse. There's no logical reason."

"Doesn't matter," Booth assured her.

For a few minutes, Brennan was silent, curled against him, her breathing shallow and uneven. She eventually broke the silence, venturing, "Last night…I couldn't sleep without you."

"I know, Bones. I wasn't sleeping so well myself."

Brennan raised her eyes to meet his, and Booth could make out the glittering blue in the moonlight streaming in from the window. After a beat, Brennan admitted hesitantly, "I don't _want_ to have to fall asleep without you."

"Hmmm," Booth pretended to consider it, lightly nuzzling his nose against hers. "Neither do I. I guess it's a good thing we got married today."

"Yesterday," Brennan corrected.

"Yesterday. We're _married_ now. You're my wife, and I'm your husband." He kissed her, smiling. "Sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Brennan agreed. "It does. But what I meant was…I don't want to _ever_ have to fall asleep without you."

His voice softening, Booth answered, "That could be arranged."

"No it can't," Brennan responded matter-of-factly. "It's highly impractical."

"I can handle it."

"What if Cullen sends you out of town?"

Immediately, Booth supplied, "I'll insist that you're my partner and my wife –because we got _married_ yesterday- and have to come with me."

"What if you take Parker camping?"

"We'll buy a double sleeping bag."

"Well, what if you desire a male bonding trip and want to get away from me for a weekend?"

Booth had buried his face in her hair, and his lips brushed lightly against the soft, smooth skin of Brennan's neck as he murmured, "Impossible."

Brennan's voice faltered, and she asked, finally, the only true question she had, the one she never stopped wrestling with. "What if you die?"

Booth shuffled backwards a little, and he leaned up to catch her lips between his, pouring his sincerity into the kiss since Brennan couldn't see his face, before answering, "Bones…I will have to be _dragged_, kicking and screaming, away from you. Whatever's trying to take me, whether it's a nutso suspect or an eighteen wheeler or even some disease in my brain….they better be prepared for one hell of a fight. Because that's what it would take to get me away from you, Bones." He pulled her close, catching her lips tenderly between his. "I won't let anything hurt you, Temperance. Ever. And if that means doing everything in my power to be here as long as possible, then I'm going to do that. I promise."

For a long moment, Brennan was silent. Then, she murmured thickly, "Seeley?"

Her still rare use of his first name was still enough to let him know the utter importance of what was coming. "Hmm?"

"I really, really love you."

Booth smiled; they'd been together for nearly four months, and those words never failed to tug at his heart. "I love you, too, Bones. Forever."

Brennan drifted back to sleep within twenty minutes, but after awhile Booth eased himself out of bed and went to the desk between the television and the mini fridge that was standard in any hotel room. There was a white legal pad and a pen with the hotel logo on the desk. Turning the pen over in his hands, deliberating, Booth began to write.

He was still writing, surrounded by crumpled up sheets of paper, an hour later when Brennan woke up to find the space next to her empty.

Panicked, she whipped her head around and found her husband sitting at the desk. "Booth? What are you doing?"

Booth turned and smiled at her. "Writing a letter. It's for you." He began to fold the piece of paper.

Confused, Brennan held out her hand. "Why would you write me a letter? You're perfectly capable of speaking to me. Let me see."

"Not now. It's for later."

"Later when?"

Booth grimaced a little. "Later…if anything happens to me."

Brennan's entire expression changed. Jaw set, eyes glinting, she demanded, "Tear it up."

"No." Before she could protest, Booth said, "I'm thinking you're not going to have to read this until we're both old and senile. But it's going to be just as important then, so it doesn't matter." Tucking the letter into the front pouch of his suitcase, Booth came back over to the bed and sat down, lacing his fingers through Brennan's. "Bones, I told you, I'm going to do everything humanly possible to be here as long as I can with you. But if something unexpected happens, if it's something I can't beat…I need to know you'll be okay."

"I won't be," she said instantly. "I _can't_ lose you, Booth."

"And you probably won't," he soothed. "But after I got shot, if I had really died…you wouldn't have been the only one with regrets. There's a lot I would have wanted to say to you, and I need to make sure I don't have anything I never said when it does happen." Brennan was blinking hard, fighting tears, and Booth assured her, "Hey, you'll probably be, like, a hundred and ten when you have to read this Bones. You don't have to think about it."

"Unlikely. The average life expectancy for females in the United States is 77, and only on extremely rare occasions-"

Booth chuckled. "Okay, not a hundred and ten, then. Maybe ninety or so. But you don't have to think about it, okay? I told you, nothing's taking me away from you…or the other way around, by the way, without a fight. And I'm pretty good in a fight."

"Only with my help," At Booth's confused look, Brennan clarified, "Las Vegas, remember?"

Booth grinned instantly. "Oh, yeah. Tony and Roxie." He laughed. "You know, back then you wouldn't even agree to a hypothetical, undercover engagement." He slipped his left hand in hers, staring at their wedding rings. "You changed, Bones."

Brennan half-smiled. "It shouldn't be surprising. Entropy's a natural force pulling everything apart at a subatomic level…everything changes."

Booth rolled over on the bed, his face above hers, leaning on his elbows as their bodies pressed together. "Not everything, Bones."

He kissed her deeply, and Brennan murmured against his lips, "That's true. Experience has…proven…some things…are constant."

_Whew. Okay. So….the final full chapter. It honestly makes me sad to be finishing up this story, and am probably going to have to force myself to post the epilogue (in a few days, hopefully), because I've loved writing this one. I'm pretty proud of it._

_I usually loathe stories when, out of nowhere, Brennan reverses her beliefs and gets married without explanation, but this fic has been all about Brennan changing as a result of Booth's "death", about accepting love and faith and everything else that scared her…and for me, this is what happened._

_I'd love to know what you thought of everything..from the original breakdown of the car accident, to Brennan's clumsy, spontaneous proposal, to BOOTH'S proposal (which is the way it is because I was walking to my dorm from the library at midnight in the rain and thinking about this story haha), the wedding, the finale scene, all of it. You guys are the greatest readers ever, without exaggeration, and I love hearing what you think._

_Also, please do tune in for the epilogue. _


	18. Epilogue: Long Ride Home

_Wow. 700 reviews guys. I'm kind of floored. And also really kind of sad this is coming to an end. I've loved this fic…it's my baby. My extremely angsty baby haha. I also love the epilogue. I came up with it pretty early on, and went ahead and wrote a brief version as a draft. So I always knew where I was going with this story. I think it fits the tone. Romantic, sad, sweet. Thanks to everyone who's reading it, and please review. Haha, I'm already sure I'm going to miss getting reviews for this one, so this is the last chance. : ]_

_Chapter title from "Long Ride Home" by Pattiy Griffin. This is one of the chapters that I think the song would enhance it. Plus, it's a really really good song. So here's the best version I could find on youtube. Open a tab, give it a listen. .com/watch?v=p6hpwl9rTL0_

_**Epilogue: Long Ride Home**_

_Long black limousine  
Shiniest car I've ever seen  
The back seat is nice and clean  
She rides as quiet as a dream  
Someone dug a hole six long feet in the ground  
I said goodbye to you and I threw my roses down  
Ain't nothing left at all in the end of being proud  
With me riding in this car, and you flying through the clouds_

I've had some time to think about you  
And watch the sun sink like a stone  
I've had some time to think about you  
On the long ride home

She thinks, later, that maybe she would have been alright if she hadn't gone to the funeral.

Forty-seven years and she had never forgotten this feeling. The crushing weight in her chest that made it hard to breathe, the constant, gnawing ache, the way the entire world seemed bleak and unfamiliar without him. The way it still didn't feel real.

It was the second funeral, the second coffin, the second grave. The second time Temperance Brennan lost the love of her life.

The honor guard captain handed her Booth's flag, the second flag, and Brennan took it with trembling hands.

Parker, Sophie and Ben stood around her, their spouses and children close by as well. Angela and Jack's daughter had driven them up for the funeral.

Her children, though grown and married, lived relatively close. She had seven grandchildren. She saw friends. She did charity work. Brennan was not, objectively, alone.

But her husband, her best friend, was gone, and Brennan was at a loss for how to do this.

It had been three days. Three days Brennan hadn't talked to her husband. Three days she hadn't seen him. After forty-seven years, that was absurd.

Brennan's piercing blue eyes found the coffin and she thought, suddenly, of the first coffin, the empty coffin from years before.

She wanted to believe it was another mistake, but it was irrefutable. She'd been there, in the hospital, holding his hand, when he died.

He'd gotten sick six months ago. Colon cancer.

Their post-retirement life had turned, instantly, from traveling, from being with their grandkids, from leisure to a life of hospitals and surgeries and chemotherapy.

Then a week ago, they'd found a tumor in Booth's liver; the cancer had metastasized.

The surgeon said he could live for several months with the tumor. They said the surgery was risky.

He was eighty-two years old. He had had a good life, one to be proud of. Nearly fifty years with the woman he loved. Three successful, beautiful kids.

But Seeley Booth had taken one look at his wife. Seventy-seven years old and, to him, just as brilliant and beautiful and stubborn as they day they met. His wife who had aged so gracefully, who had spent six months by his side through all of this, helping him fight.. Who hadn't flinched or faltered no matter how ugly it got.

Who had already lost him once, years ago. And who looked stricken at the suggestion of taking his death sentence.

So he covered a weathered, shaky hand over his wife's, and informed the doctor he couldn't live months with a tumor feeling this bad. That risks were part of it all. That he would keep fighting.

He made through the surgery. But, as the surgeon had tried to explain, there were complications. He'd flat lined on the table. His brain had been without oxygen for two long.

He wasn't going to wake up.

Brennan had been numbed into silence following this announcement. Their children handled it better. They knew what their father wanted; they knew he wouldn't want to be kept alive by machines.

Brennan knew it too. This was, after all, the person she knew better than anyone else in the world. Whose sentences she could finish without thinking.

But it had taken two days; two days she didn't leave the hospital room, two days of her children's coaxing and comfort, two days to agree to let him go.

She hadn't said goodbye. She never did, before surgery. She refused. Booth, though, had done what he always did before surgery. He'd kissed her gently in the hospital room then, before they wheeled him away, he'd lifted her hand to his lips and said, "I love you, my Bones."

For she was still Bones, even after forty-seven years of marriage. She was Temperance, too, but more often she was still his Bones. When they were little, Sophie and Ben had thought it was their mother's real name, leading to some interesting moments with teachers and friends' parents. As teenagers, they'd groaned and asked why Booth couldn't just call their mom something _normal_. And as adults they merely rolled their eyes and smiled.

Brennan was Bones to Parker. She was Grandma Bones to the youngest grandkids. But she had always been _his_ Bones.

And she hadn't said goodbye.

It took hours after they unplugged the life support for his heart to fail. And she was there.

She held his hand. She rested her forehead against his temple, touched his thin, pepper gray hair, imagined the sparkle that had never faded from his warm brown eyes. She whispered that she loved him.

And she watched him die. Her children around her in the small hospital room, tears working their way slowly down her face, Temperance Brennan felt her husband's heart stop.

And she did not understand why her own was still beating.

She hadn't wanted a funeral. The kids had arranged it all; Brennan wanted no part in it. She even told Sophie, who had insisted on staying with her for a few days, that she had been to his funeral once before, and shouldn't be required to do it again.

But she'd gone. Of course she had.

So now, as Brennan stood at the second funeral, she realized that one thing hadn't changed in the forty-seven years that separated them…she still couldn't survive without him.

There was a sharp, throbbing pain in her chest. She remembered this, the unexplainable physicality of grief.

His coffin was being lowered into the grave. The coffin that actually held his body, the grave next to a tombstone that had more than his name. The coffin disappeared, and Booth was gone.

He pulled her hand from Sophie's and covered her face, not watching, a low moan escaping from her lips and tears slipped down her cheeks.

She didn't know what she was supposed to do. They'd been in the hospital for three weeks without leaving, in and out for five months before that. Six months before had been about taking care of Booth. Forty-seven years before that had been about being with Booth.

They wanted her to talk. Her daughter, her sons, Angela. But the only person she wanted to talk to was Booth. He was who she talked to, who she complained to, who she argued with, who she ran everything by. She hadn't talked to him in three days, or seen him, and she missed him. Brennan felt hurt and hollow and exhausted.

When it was finally, mercifully over, Ben wrapped an arm around her on one side, and Parker looped a hand through the crook of her elbow on the other. Together, they walked to the limo that would take them back to the house for the wake.

Brennan moved away from her sons when they entered the house. She locked herself into a small bathroom, away from rooms that seemed to make his absence all the more conspicuous.

The house filled with people. She could hear the muted chatter from the living room. The house was full, but later they would leave. The house would be empty, and Brennan would have nothing but time and emptiness, long days without him. In this place that was no longer her home. He'd taken that with him, yet again.

The doctor had talked a lot to Booth, toward the end, about the treatment options, about how much time he could have without it. They were at the age where it was a real question, where or not you wanted to fight whatever was trying to kill you. Whether you were ready to just let it come.

Brennan knew that, to an extent, Booth had been fighting for her. Because the memory of the months, even the years, that followed his fake death, was still there. And because even now, his eightieth birthday had terrified her. And Brennan had never let him talk about the end coming.

But now Brennan was the one who didn't want to fight.

Her fingers were trembling as she twisted the wedding ring around her finger. Her breaths were shallow and harsh. Her lungs ached, and the sharp ache in her chest was back, now constant. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure his face, imagine his voice…

_Breathe, Bones. Just, breathe for me._

Then everything went black.

~(B*B)~

Sophie Booth was sick of hospitals.

For most of the months when her father was sick, she and her brothers rotated shifts through the hospital. Her mother was stubborn; she rarely left. But she and her brothers usually took turns being there, sometimes with their spouses and kids, sometimes without.

But during the last week, they'd all been there all the time. From the diagnosis to the tumor from the surgery and the hard, painful decision to take him off life support.

And then, a half an hour into the wake, she'd heard the thud in the bathroom. Knocked, called for her mother. Then her older brother had quickly picked the lock and swung the door open; her mother was lying on the floor, barely conscious, clutching her chest and struggling to breathe.

Three hours later, she was trying to get used to the sight of her mother, not her father, lying in a hospital bed, looking old and frail and sick.

Her mother was active, brilliant, shrewd, lively. Her mother had never appeared old to Sophie until the day her father was diagnosed with cancer.

They all knew the story. When she was a young girl, Sophie had thought it was incredibly romantic. Her parents had been best friends, in love but not acknowledging it until that month. That month when her father's job had forced him to fake his death, when she hadn't been told, when she realized she couldn't live without him.

It was what Brennan had always told her daughter. Sophie idolized her mother, her intelligence and drive and independence. Sophie had gotten a doctorate young, like her mother. Sophie had kept her name after she got married, like her mother. Sophie had spent a long time trying to be independent, like her mother.

But her mother had always told her to find someone who loved her; someone she couldn't live without. And as in most things, Brennan had meant that literally.

They thought it was a heart attack. Now, after a few hours, they'd diagnosed stress cardiomyopathy. Also called Takotsubo.

But Sophie knew the other name. Broken heart syndrome.

It meant, literally, the weakening of the heart muscle triggered by some sort of stress. They said it was treatable, once you diagnosed it, but Sophie wasn't so sure. There was a calm in her mother's eyes that hadn't been present since Booth's diagnosis.

Parker walked out of the hospital room and patted his sister on the arm. "She wants to see you."

Sophie drew a breath and walked into the room. "Hey, Mom," she said softly, drawing up a chair to the bed and taking Brennan's hand. "The doctor says you should be fine. It's a simple treatment-"

"…it isn't," Brennan told her quietly. She reached over with her other hand and covered her daughters. "It's time."

Sophie's eyes filled with tears. She had lost her father. To an extent…she'd been prepared. She'd had to be, and her brothers had to be, because her mother hadn't been. Her father had talked to her about it. In the brief moments she had alone with him, he'd talked to her about it, and her brothers, because Brennan wouldn't let him.

She wasn't prepared for this, too. To lose both of them. She was forty-two years old. She was a wife, and a mother, but she didn't want to stop being a daughter.

Her voice trembling, Sophie protested, "Mom…you're upset, it's…it's still fresh. But you'll be okay. You will. Dad, he wouldn't want you to do this."

"Seeley would…he'd understand."

Frustrated, Sophie informed her, "No, he wouldn't! He told me, he told me to make sure you went on with your life. With the kids, and us…" She swallowed.

"I know," Brennan's eyes drifted shut as she began to speak, her breathing labored, "He told…he that, too."

"Mom, you…you and Dad taught me so much about making a marriage work. Growing up, I would watch you two, and listen to Aunt Angela's stories and think that it was exactly what I wanted. But…_you_ taught me about being independent. And accomplished and being my own person. I _love_ Chris, so much, but I hope…I hope that if something ever happened to him, no matter when it was, that I have enough…to keep me going."

To her surprise, Brennan laughed quietly. "Honey…when Chris went on that business trip…to Florida last year you called me approximately three times the usual amount. You visited at _least_ twice as much. And that was two weeks. You were… depressed the entire time." She paused. "It changes everything, losing the…person you love. I know what I have…to look forward to, Soph. I've been through this before. I'm…not interested in repeating it." She settled back, a look on her face almost reminiscent of the way she looked she'd win a debate, logic trumping every time.

Sophie's jaw tightened defiantly. She earned the comparisons to her mother for more than her intellect. "We're starting you on the treatment. I already signed."

"That won't matter," Brennan told her, eyes opening, and suddenly she looked every minute of her seventy-seven years. "I learned this…forty-seven years ago. I won't survive a…world without your father, honey. You can't live long without a heart."

Biting down her lip to keep from crying, Sophie repeated one of her mother's favorite phrases, "I don't know what that means."

"It's a metaphor. But it's…valid." She squeezed Sophie's hand weakly. "I love you, sweetheart. But I've been Booth's wife for…forty-seven years…and his partner for…three before that. And I don't know…what else to be."

~(B*B)~

The kids were in and out all afternoon. Angela and Jack came by. Angela had only to look her best friend in the eye and she knew. She squeezed her hand, nodding silently, her eyes filling with tears.

Brennan was patient. She was patient with Sophie's frustration, Parker's assurances, Ben's comfort. She was patient with the doctors who told her Stress Cardiomyopathy was relatively simple once diagnosed. She was patient; she waited.

For days she had waited. Waited for an out. Waited for a way back to him. There was no mountain to climb, for obvious reasons. No serial killer to pursue.

She wasn't surprised, honestly, that her heart had simply taken care of it. It was scientific, after all. The heart weakened, it couldn't function.

Brennan leaned her head back on the bed, closing her eyes, and waited, just once more.

It was late that night, her chest hurting, her breathing strenuous and painful. There was an erratic beeping of the heart monitor. Sophie, next to her bed in the chair, yelled for a doctor. There was chaos.

"BP's falling!"

"She can't breathe…"

"Dr. Brennan, we're taking care of you-"

Then, she heard, the sweetest word she knew, the voice that meant she was finally, finally going home.

"Bones."

~(B*B)~

"She's crashing!"

"Charge the paddles."

"Nothing."

"_Mom_!"

"Get her out of here…Charge again! 400."

"Still nothing."

"Again."

~(B*B)~

This was how she knew she was dying.

_He_ was there.

Everything, the doctors, the hospital room, her daughter…all of it was fading. Everything but him.

He held out his hand.

~(B*B)~

"Nothing…"

"She's gone…"

"_No_!"

"Call it."

"Time of death, 11:43."

~(B*B)~

Sophie Booth was sick of funerals.

She and her brothers had made the arrangements for her father; her mother hadn't wanted any part of it. And here they were again, days later, meeting about coffins and headstones and funerals.

She was in her parent's bedroom, looking through her mother's closet to pick out the outfit they would bury her in, one of the many tasks you don't think about until someone dies, when she found it, unfolded and lying on her mother's bed.

A letter from her father, dated forty-seven years ago, the day after their anniversary. Sophie sat down on the bed and began to read.

The next day at the funeral, she felt a hand on her back, turning and facing Angela, her mother's best friend. She'd grown up thinking of Aunt Angela and Uncle Jack as family; they spent holidays together, frequented each others houses. "Aunt Angela…"

"I'm so sorry, honey." Angela said, hugging her.

Sophie nodded. "I'm sorry, too."

Angela nodded slowly. "To be honest…it didn't shock me. Those two…they were a set. One couldn't function without the other, even after all these years…_especially_ after all these years.

"I know."

~(B*B~

"My mother was an extremely accomplished woman. Everyone here probably knows that…I could spend time listing her awards and honors in the scientific community. I could talk about the success of her novels, or the number of murderers she and my dad put behind bars. I could tell you about the methods she pioneered and the history she changed. I could tell you about her charity work, like the Foster Child Advocacy Society she founded fifteen years ago that's going national."

"But you all know all that. And though you'd have to catch her on a very specific day to make her admit it, science didn't define my mother's life. Neither did success, even though she had plenty of it.

"My mother's life was about being in love with my father. And vice versa."

"My parents taught me about love. Unconditional, unfailing love. The kind that most kids have to see in movies or television shows. They were best friends, partners. Through everything. I grew up hearing stories of all the times one saved the others life, with no thought to their own. That's how they got together, actually…Dad took a bullet for mom, and, long story short, ended up having to pretend to be dead for a month. Mom didn't get the message, and the short version I heard as a kid was that _that _was when she realized she couldn't live without him.

"Only later did I realize that, like most things my mother said, she meant it literally. That's why we're standing here today. . Because she needed him."

Sophie reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded up piece of paper with shaking hands.

"When my parents got married, it was only a few months after Dad essentially came back from the dead. Mom was terrified of losing him. And what my dad was scared of was leaving her behind, something he promised never to do. Just in case, he wrote this. He wrote this to her on their wedding night, for her to have in case something happened to him. His last attempt to protect her, even if he couldn't be there. That was forty-seven years ago. As far as I know, my mother never read it until a few nights ago, and as far as I can tell it hasn't been altered."

"'_To my Bones,_

_We got married yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours ago, you and I got married. And a part of me still can't believe this is real. I can't talk too much about it, because then all this letter will be is me telling you how beautiful you looked in your wedding dress, and how lucky I am to be your husband…and how the word still makes me grin like an idiot. But that's not why I'm writing this._

_I don't want you to have to read this until you're ninety years old, and we've had a lifetime together. That's my plan; that's what I'm going to do everything humanly possible to make happen. I won't say I hope you __never__ have to read this, because that would mean I lost you. And I can't think about that; maybe I'm selfish, Bones, but I'm older and, as you've reminded me, women generally outlive men. So I get to hope to go first. Because that could still be when I'm ninety-five and you're ninety and we've had sixty years of being husband and wife._

_But no matter when it happens, whenever you're reading this…I want you to be okay. Because you've said you won't survive it. But I need you to survive, Bones. The world deserves you in it as long as possible, and you can do so much for it. You don't need me to be amazing, Temperance. You're that all on your own. And I know you don't put much credence in it, but I firmly believe people we love never really leave us. And if anyone loved anyone enough to stay with them, it's me. _

_I love you, Bones. And no matter when you're reading this, no matter how long we had together…I can say with confidence that I have no regrets. Because you changed my life for the better. I couldn't ask for more. And no matter when you read this, no matter __why__ you have to read this…know that if love were enough, I'd be there._

_Again, I know you don't believe there's anything waiting for us after death. But I think I can believe enough for both of us (or maybe you've changed your mind by now…it's starting to look more and more possible). Because I'm going to wait for you. And I want you to take as long as you can. I'm a patient man, Bones. I can wait. _

_I love you. _

_Booth.'"_

Wiping her eyes, Sophie raised her head from the letter. "My father was a patient man. But my mother was not a patient woman. She spent less than four days on this earth without my father, and she already knew she couldn't handle it. My dad raised us to believe in heaven. I think…I think he was my mom's heaven. And that's why I believe that he waited. That they're together.

"My mother was many things. She was Mom…a loving and selfless and strong mother. She was Dr. Temperance Brennan, the world renowned anthropologist. She was Bren, to her closest friends. She was Grandma." Sophie paused. "But more than anything else she was…my dad's Bones."

_Phew. So. I hope you enjoyed it. Though maybe that's the wrong word, as it made ME sad to even write this. I still consider that this story had a happy ending. But I had to make this a little bittersweet. _

_Please review! You guys are seriously amazing, loyal and helpful readers. I'd love to see what you thought of the epilogue. _

_I'm pretty proud of this story, and I want to thank everyone for sticking with it, no matter when you discovered it. I've got some new things in the works, so look out for all that. More love and angst to come, I'm sure, haha. _

_~Hannah_


End file.
